Web of Dreams (Casteel 5)

"It will be the best doll in the world!" he proclaimed. And then after a moment's thought he said, "I'm going to tell Rye Whiskey." He rushed out of my bedroom again.

I turned back to the mirror and my own image again. Could I do it? Would I do it? Momma thought I should, but Momma wanted me to do anything to keep Tony occupied and spare her from his constant demands and need for attention.

What would Daddy say? I wondered.

He wouldn't like it; he couldn't like it, not Waddy. How I wished he were home already so I could ask him. But he wasn't home, he was still busy in Europe with his business and with . . Mildred Pierce.

Mildred Pierce, I thought angrily. He let someone steal away his attention and love, let someone keep him from me longer and maybe even forever.

I untied my robe and let the garment fall to my feet. I would be a Tatterton doll. I might even give Daddy one on his new wedding day.

thirteen ME . . . A MODEL?

. Tony spent the next week with his marketing people planning out the production and sale of portrait dolls. Every evening at dinner he had something new and exciting to tell us about the project. Momma was more interested in this than she had been in anything else Tony did. I felt myself being swept up in the tide of excitement that rushed over us. Finally, one evening he announced that the cottage had been prepared and he was ready to begin after breakfast the following morning. I felt heat rush to my cheeks and my heart flutter. Momma smiled broadly and Tony proposed a toast to the project.

"And to Leigh," he said gazing at me with his cerulean eyes burning brightly. "The first Tatterton model."

"To Leigh," Momma said and followed it with a thin laugh. They drank their wine quickly, like two conspirators who had embarked on a venture from which they had sworn they would never turn back.

"What do I have to wear? How should I brush my hair?" I asked, sounding a bit frantic.

"Just be yourself," Tony said. "Don't do anything special. You're special enough," he added. When I looked at Momma, I saw she was gazing at him with a soft, but contented smile on her face. I knew why she was so happy Tony was engrossed in this enterprise. While he was, he wasn't making any demands upon her.

But I couldn't fall asleep that night, thinking about what it was going to be like posing for Tony. I wanted to talk to Momma about it some more, but she went to a bridge game and when she returned, she made it clear that she was exhausted and had to go right to sleep. Tony looked as disappointed as I did about that.

After breakfast the next morning, he and I set out for the cottage. He had decided to walk through the maze. It was a beautiful, warm morning, the fluffy, cotton-ball clouds just gliding lazily across the turquoise sky.

"It's a wonderful day to begin something new and significant," he said. He seemed so energized, so full of enthusiasm, that I felt foolish still having butterflies in my stomach. He saw how pensive and nervous I was. "Relax. This will be easy and once we get into it, you'll actually enjoy it. I know; I've worked with many models before."

"You have?"--

"Of course. I took many art courses at college and had special training here at Earthy." He leaned toward me and lowered his voice as if he were telling secrets. "I began when I was eleven."

"Eleven?" At eleven he was drawing and painting nude people?

"Uh-huh. So you see, you're with a man of great experience."

He smiled and we entered the maze. Tony moved through it with assurance, never hesitating at any turn, never questioning any choice.

"To other people," he explained, "all these hedges look alike, but growing up with them as I have, I notice subtle differences. These corridors are as different to me as night and day. After a while, it will become the same for you," he assured me.

The cottage looked the same from the outside, except all the shades had been drawn in all the windows. Inside, Tony had set up his easel and paints, pencils and pens. He had brought in a long, metal worktable. Materials for the sculpture were there, as well as all sorts of carving tools. The furniture had been moved about so as to provide as much free space as possible. There were two large pole lamps, one on each side of the easel, their bulbs directed toward the small couch.

"We'll begin with having you sit there," he said pointing to the couch. "Relax and think of pleasant thoughts. It will take me a few moments to set everything up," he added. He began to organize his materials. I sat on the couch and watched him as he worked, seeing in his face the same creative purpose and concentration I had often seen in little Troy's face.

I was wearing a plain white, short-sleeve cotton blouse and a light blue skirt. My bangs were cut short, but the rest of my hair was long enough to reach the middle of my shoulder blades and lay softly against my neck and shoulders. I hadn't put on any lipstick.

"Okay," Tony said turning to me. "I'm going to begin with your face. Just gaze at me with a slight smile on your face. I don't want the doll to have the wide, clownish smile some toy dolls have. I want this doll to reflect your natural beauty, your soft and lovely expression."

I didn't know what to say. Was all that true? Was I soft and lovely? Surely, if Tony wanted me for such an important project, he must see these things in me and not be simply flattering me to make me feel good.

He took a long look at me, drinking me in. I fixed my eyes on him as he had instructed and saw the way he measured the features of my face and planned his first lines. I did begin to feel as if I were part of something artistic and soon los

t the trembling and quickened heartbeat. Tony looked at me, drew, looked at me, nodded to himself, and drew. I tried to keep perfectly still, but it was hard not to fidget.

"You can move about a little," he said smiling. "I don't want to turn you into stone," he added. "Loosen up until you feel comfortable." I did loosen up. "Feeling better?"

"Yes."