The Lost Daughter: A Memoir (11 page)

The driver helped me carry my bags inside. The door had been left unlocked, which I soon learned was a common practice. After the driver left and the sound of tires crunching on gravel faded, I stood in a dimly lit entry hall with thirty-foot ceilings, a dazzling chandelier and a spiral staircase. I stood quietly for a moment enveloped in the tranquil quiet of the sleeping house. I knew at least eleven people were tucked away in various rooms fast asleep, but all I heard were the shifting bones of the old house. I poked my head into one of the two living rooms and was confronted by Scarlett O’Hara.

What looked like the original painting from
Gone with the Wind
was mounted on the wall lit by a small overhead light. A haughty Scarlett in an off-the-shoulder blue velvet gown and a white lace shawl stared off to the left as if refusing to acknowledge my presence. I stepped closer for a better look. Jane had told me that
Gone with the Wind
was one of Ted’s favorite movies and he’d even named one of his sons Rhett after the leading man played by Clark Gable.

I squinted and rubbed my fingers lightly across the surface to see if I could detect any sign of damage from when an angry Rhett Butler threw a glass of liquor at the portrait. There was none. I found out later it was a reproduction and that the original hangs in the Margaret Mitchell House in Atlanta.

I wandered around the living room, checking out the interesting knickknacks and antiquated furniture. I wondered if I should wake someone in order to find out where I was to sleep, or just crash on the couch with Scarlett for the night. Just when I’d decided on the couch, a light at the top of the spiral staircase popped on and there stood Ted in a terry-cloth bathrobe and slippers. “Lulu!” he yelled down at me with his gap-toothed grin. “Welcome home! I been waitin’ up for ya! Let me show you where you’re sleeping!” Since Ted doesn’t know how to whisper, this greeting carried the decibel level of crashing cymbals. I cringed. He came down the stairs and embraced me before grabbing my suitcase and carrying it up the stairs, all the while telling me in his booming voice what a great week he had planned for us. Again I found myself moved by how much he genuinely wanted to make each of us welcome in his family. He showed me to my room and kissed me good night. He closed the door and I listened to the sound of his slippers swishing across the hardwood as he made his way toward the master bedroom directly across from mine. I fell asleep that night thinking here, in the most improbable place and in the most improbable person, I’d found a father.

Jane woke us up the next morning for breakfast at eight
A
.
M
. I was rested and anxious to meet my future stepbrothers and sisters. We filed into the formal dining room with views out the back to several acres of sloping manicured lawn running down toward a small lake ringed in long leaf pines dripping with Spanish moss. There were also several black labs belonging to Ted and his children standing and lying at a respectful distance from the table, feigning disinterest in the sumptuous aroma wafting in from the kitchen located down a long hallway at the rear of the house. These weren’t just any labs. They were beautiful specimens with lustrous coats and were not just companions but well-trained and well-bred working dogs. Jane’s golden retriever, Spencer, born and raised in Los Angeles, looked like a prince among a crew of construction workers. But within the year Jane would have him trained and hunting with the best of ’em.

The Turner kids were already seated when we Fonda kids (not used to such an early rising, especially during vacation) wandered in. I took a spot next to Teddy Jr., Ted’s oldest son. He greeted me warmly. He was a cuddly man with a boyish face and mischievous eyes. I couldn’t stop staring at the bobbing lump his chewing tobacco made tucked in a fold between his lip and lower gum as he talked.

Beau, Ted’s youngest son, sat to my left. He was tall, handsome and charming—the spitting image of his father. Rhett was quiet and uncharacteristically introverted for a Turner. I’d later learn he was the artist of the bunch. Within a few years I’d attend his graduation from the prestigious Rhode Island School of Design, where he’d earn a degree in photography. Across from me sat Jenny, Ted’s youngest daughter. Blond, pretty and gregarious—what was not to love? But the true heart of the family was Laura, Ted’s oldest. She was a beauty as well but didn’t have the carefree attitude of her younger sister. Laura exuded an air of intelligence and a no-nonsense personality. Where Beau had Ted’s charm, Laura had his outspokenness. She was protective of her family, especially of her younger sister, Jenny. Her fiancé, Rutherford, was a lawyer and he was the epitome of a Southern gentleman, with a bit of a frat boy thrown in to make things interesting. Beyond all expectations, our blended family got on well. Conversation flowed easily and naturally between us.

The table was dressed in the finest linens and silver cutlery. Once we were all seated, Jane rang a small silver bell in front of her and within minutes several African-American women came through the door carrying trays laden with cheese grits, bacon, eggs, hash browns, biscuits, pancakes, toast and freshly squeezed orange juice. I found the all-black staff a little too reminiscent of the antebellum South and so did my siblings. We also had to get used to our mom in the role of Southern mistress of the house.

The staff, I learned, had had family working on the plantation for generations. I got to know the entire crew but got especially close to a few. There was Edward, a butler of sorts, a kind, dignified, quiet fellow who moved around the house with the stealth of a cat. While working he was the consummate professional, but in his off-time he loved to joke, and to witness him smile was like beholding one of the world wonders. Viola and Etty Lee were the cooks, capable of churning out Southern dishes that made you want to thank Jesus for taste buds. I loved to sit out on the back porch or in the room off the kitchen and help them shell peas or shuck corn and listen to them gossip. Rounding out the house staff was the lovely Betty Jean, one of the maids, with her smooth dark skin and long flowing hair that she wore in two braids that reached down past her bosom. My mom was particularly enamored with her and usually prefaced her name with “beautiful,” which she does even to this day.

I often stole moments away from the family to visit with the staff in the kitchen, where they taught me how to remove buckshot from and defeather quail, and how to make the perfect pitcher of sweet tea. I was happy to learn that Ted was a good boss and paid his staff well; in turn they genuinely liked the Turners. I grew especially close to Jimmy Brown, an older black gentleman from the South Carolina low country with a strong geechie accent. He’d originally worked for Ted’s father and was like an older brother to a young Ted. When Ted grew up and took over his father’s company, Jimmy became his closest ally and helped raise Ted’s five children. Ted had made him a millionaire in his own right. Although he could afford to retire to some luxury resort on a tropical island, Jimmy chose to stay near the family where he could keep a close watch on them.

The Turner kids viewed Jimmy as a bona fide member of the family, and when they had children, Jimmy (who never married) became a grandfather too. Like Ted, Jimmy was hard-working and, despite a disability that limited the full use of one of his arms and left him with a limp, he was always on the move and enjoyed spending as much time as possible outdoors. His favorite activity was fishing, which he did remarkably well with one arm. When I met Jimmy, he was dating the much younger Joann, the sweet-natured and soft-spoken daughter of the cook, Viola. Some of my fondest memories of Jimmy Brown were traveling with him on road trips between Ted’s plantations in Florida, Georgia and South Carolina. Jimmy didn’t like to fly and if Joann was unable to travel with him, I volunteered.

Although our blended family got on remarkably well, there were a few things that would need to change. Ted insisted on structuring every aspect of the vacation. His idea of fun was not relaxing on the veranda with a hot chocolate or whiling away the afternoon in front of the television. He enjoyed spending nearly every minute doing something active and outdoorsy, and so he tended to run the vacation like he ran his businesses. We were expected to be on time for all activities and meals. Ted scheduled quail and deer hunts, and fishing for the predawn hours, breakfast at eight
A
.
M
., and more late-morning activities like skeet shooting and four-wheeling before lunch. After lunch there was horseback riding and nature walks. While his children were used to rising before the sun, formal meals and structured days (the Turner boys all attended The Citadel, a military college in South Carolina), we Fondas were wondering when we’d get a break from our vacation. The lull usually came in the evenings because Ted and Jane were blessedly in bed by 8:30 or 9
P
.
M
., at which time we could count on being free and clear of Ted’s schedule.

We spent the evenings in the Green Room, a masculine but cozy area off the dining room painted a deep forest green, with wainscoting and deep, leather armchairs. There was a large fireplace, which we kept roaring in the evenings. The walls were crowded with a virtual forest of mounted animal heads and more than a few prize fish, all bagged by Ted himself. In the midst of it all was a large TV and a library of the latest films. Under the empty gazes of dozens of herd animals, we Turner and Fonda kids bonded further watching films like
Edward Scissorhands
,
Dances with Wolves
,
The Grifters
and
Pretty Woman
.

It didn’t take long for Vanessa and Nathalie to become representatives for us all and express our unhappiness with the scheduled fun. Ted took the criticism well and loosened the reins in terms of mandatory participation in activities, but maintained that meals together were not optional, though we would not have to dress up for them. We even got a few more healthy dishes included in the menu. Not only were we happy about the change but Ted also seemed less stressed, and I even think the Turner kids enjoyed the more relaxed atmosphere.

•   •   •

It was at Avalon that Jane and Ted married in 1991. My mom wore an antique white lace wedding dress and Ted sported a white linen suit. It was the third marriage for each. They’d originally planned to wed in a charming little one-room church on the property but plans changed at the last minute due to the paparazzi catching wind of the plan and descending on the site. Instead, the ceremony took place in the entry hall at the bottom of the spiral staircase, where I’d stood alone and uncertain just a little over a year before.

The holidays were my favorite family times. Best of all was Thanksgiving at Avalon. After a few years most of the Turner kids were dating seriously or married, and divided the holiday between two families. Nathalie, Vanessa and Troy were working or attending school. I was teaching English in Morocco and had several weeks of vacation time. So after nearly a week of a full house, by Thanksgiving morning all of the kids were gone, leaving just Ted, Jane, Ted’s lab Blackie, my mom’s golden, Spencer, and me.

We’d have a leisurely breakfast, after which Ted and I’d spend the morning fishing. We’d load up the old SUV with our gear and the dogs and head to the lake. The lake was less than three miles from the house but the short trip was elongated by frequent stops. Along the way Ted would pull over whenever he spotted a piece of trash, often left by poachers. Nothing escaped his notice. Not a beer can, a gum wrapper or a cigarette butt. He’d be in the middle of an interesting story when suddenly he’d brake hard and pull over at the same time. He’d hop out of the vehicle, retrieve the offending piece of trash, toss it in the vehicle and resume our conversation exactly where he’d left off.

At the lake we boarded one of the bass barges, a kind of motorized, floating platform with comfy seating. There was plenty of room for the both of us and the dogs. For the next couple of hours we cruised around the lake catching and releasing brim, crappie and bass. I often got my line snagged in the reeds no matter how many times Ted instructed me how to avoid it. He patiently disengaged my line every time. Sometimes we sat quietly enjoying the fine weather and the beautiful scenery, but mostly Ted was teaching me how to identify the various bird calls pouring out of the forest or quizzing me on the various wild plants. He also told me stories from his early years, stories about his beloved little sister, Mary Jane, who died from lupus at a young age. “I prayed to God every night to save her and when He didn’t, I gave up believing in Him altogether.” Ted wasn’t melancholy very often. He was usually quite optimistic about most things, so those moments when he was emotional really stand out to me. Like the time we were watching one of his favorite films, the documentary series
Eyes on the Prize
, which chronicles the story of the civil rights movement. Whenever there were any scenes in which the protesters were being hosed or beaten or having dogs set upon them, Ted was reduced to a blubbering mess every time. With tissue in hand, he soldiered on through the entire segment. I also caught him crying during a screening of the Walt Disney animated film
Beauty and the Beast
. The scene where the beast was transformed into a handsome prince is what sends him reaching for the tissue.

After fishing, we’d return to the house and I’d spend the afternoon reading and after lunch head out on a hike. The staff didn’t work Thanksgiving Day, so in the evening we’d all head into town for dinner at the only place open on Thanksgiving evening: Hooters. We’d enjoy our meal of buffalo wings and burgers served by nubile young women in tank tops and bright orange shorts before catching a movie at the local movie theater. Those last few days of solitary time with my parents always ended the holidays on a high note and I often returned to school or work feeling loved and quite lucky.

Being one of Ted’s kids was like living in a whole new world. We flew around on Ted’s private jet, sat front row center at Braves and Hawks games, attended black-tie fundraisers hosted in some of the finest homes and venues in Atlanta. But through it all we were connected as a family. We went to each other’s birthdays, graduations and weddings. There were the Trumpet Awards, the Goodwill Games, fundraisers for the Captain Planet Foundation and for my mom’s nonprofit, Georgia Campaign for Adolescent Pregnancy Prevention (GCAPP). When I had free time, I’d join Ted and Jane on speaking engagements, like an event in which Ted spoke to a crowd of Civil War enthusiasts. I loved to watch Ted speak. He is always unscripted, smart and absolutely hilarious. I had few friends during this time. I didn’t need any, I had my family.