"This is no time to be flippant, Dawn. It's a serious problem. At this period in my life I don't need anything to speed up my aging process. I'm thinking of taking those new skin treatments I read about."
"Mother, if I've told you once, I've told you a hundred times: anyone who wants to see wrinkles in your face has to use a magnifying glass," I said.
"I know you're just being nice, Dawn, but I can see myself in a mirror, can't I? Oh, this thing with Clara Sue," she moaned. "It will be the death of me. What should I do?"
"There's someone knocking on my office door, Mother," I said.
"I'm sure there's no one there, Dawn. You just want to get rid of me. Everyone just wants to get rid of me these days . . . Philip, that woman, Clara Sue, and now you, too," she sobbed. "Thank goodness I have Bronson."
"There really is someone knocking, Mother. We're in the season now," I reminded her.
"Oh, that hotel. It will always be my competition. First it was with Randolph, and then with Philip, and now with you."
"Responsibilities don't take care of themselves, Mother," I said.
"You sounded just like her when you said that, Dawn. Do you know that? Just like her."
"Mother . . ."
"No, Dawn, the hotel's all you think about or care about these days. Honestly, I don't know why it should be so important to you. Weil," she said, sighing deeply, "goodbye, then. As soon as the gossip about Clara Sue begins, tell me so I can prepare myself for the worst," she added before hanging up.
When I told Jimmy he thought the whole thing was amusing, but I couldn't imagine why Philip hadn't told me about Clara Sue. He called at least once a week now, sometimes twice. I was surprised to discover he didn't know.
"Mother never said a thing," he claimed, "and I haven't spoken to Clara Sue for months. An older man? And divorced? Well, what do you know about that? I wondered what she would eventually do with herself. She has no aptitude for anything, never cared much about the hotel, did terribly in school and wasn't interested in going to any college . . . oh, well," he said, "at least she will be out of everyone's hair."
Somehow I doubted that.
10
FAMILY AFFAIRS
THERE WERE A GREAT NUMBER OF PEOPLE AT PHILIP'S GRADUATION. Jimmy and I drove down with Bronson and Mother in Bronson's limousine. I wanted to bring Christie, but Mother insisted it was no place for a child. When we arrived and took our seats, however, we saw dozens of children, many younger than Christie. I was sure she would have enjoyed seeing the ceremony.
It was a beautiful and warm spring day, so the college had the ceremony outside. Mother was a nervous wreck, of course, looking around expectantly every five minutes, anticipating Clara Sue's arrival with her "male friend," as Mother now referred to him.
The Monroes did not sit with us. They had a contingent of their own friends and relatives to sit with, and we had only a passing meeting with Betty Ann's parents. I decided Mother was right in referring to Claudine Monroe as "that woman," for she showed little interest in meeting me and Jimmy and was rather abrupt. After the introductions she was off to meet and greet other people. Stuart Monroe was a great deal warmer and friendlier. I decided that Betty Ann had inherited her plainness from her mother, who, although tall and stately in posture, was quite unremarkable in looks and had that same pale complexion and unshiny hair.
We took our seats only moments before the coordinating director gave his signal for the band to play the march.
"Where is she?" Mother muttered, her head turning every which way like a weathervane in a crosswind.
"Perhaps she decided at the last minute not to come," Bronson suggested.
"I hope so," Mother replied.
The music started, and the audience rose as the graduates began their walk to the stage. Philip smiled our way as soon as he appeared. Strands of his gold hair uncovered by his cap caught the sun's brightness, as did his blue eyes. Bronson had brought a camera and snapped pictures. As soon as all the graduates were on the stage we sat down, and the commencement festivities began. I had all but forgotten about Clara Sue until the middle of the main speaker's talk. He was a state senator and had everyone's rapt attention when suddenly we heard a wave of murmuring behind us, and we all turned to look.
Clara Sue and her "male friend" were coming down the center aisle, Clara Sue giggling at the disruption she was causing. She held her older man's hand and charged ahead, looking as though she were dragging him to a seat. But that wasn't what shocked everyone. It was what she was wearing—a short, tight black leather mini skirt and a flimsy white silk off-shoulder blouse that revealed more than just the top of her full bosom. In fact, as she bounced down the aisle in her spiked heels, it looked as if her breasts might pop up and out of the garment any moment.
Her hair was still permed, but fluffed out in a wild mane. She wore pounds of makeup: heavy blue eyeliner, a deep red lipstick and layers and layers of rouge. Her long gold leaf earrings dangled and swung as she pranced, deliberately turning every which way to smile at the gawking men.
Her "male friend" was tall and thin with prematurely graying hair. He had a thin nose and round eyes with an abundant mouth and sharply clipped jaw. Dressed in a gray suit and tie, he looked like some businessman Clara Sue had fished off the street to accompany her.
When Clara Sue finally found our aisle she stopped. Bronson had saved two seats beside him, which would keep Clara Sue as far away from Jimmy and me as possible. She disturbed everyone in her way, falling over one elderly gentleman as she approached us. His eyes goggled as her breasts spilled toward his face. Flustered, all he could do was wait until Clara Sue's "male friend" helped her back to her feet and guided her along, his hands on her hips. She plopped into the seat beside Bronson, laughing. Eyes glared angrily from every head around us. The commotion had reached the senator, who paused in his speech. Mercifully he continued, taking the attention from us.
If Mother could have crawled under her seat, she would have. She had slumped back and down as far as she could and stared ahead as though what was going on had nothing whatsoever to do with her.
"Sorry we're late," Clara Sue told Bronson in a giggle loud enough for anyone within five rows of us to hear, "but I misplaced the invitation and forgot the time."