Web of Dreams (Casteel 5)

"Men can be such fools." He smiled. "Didn't get along with the new woman?"

"I was too upset about things. I suppose I was unfair," I added. I had been thinking that I should have given my father and his wife another chance by going to dinner with them. Now he was off to Maine and I couldn't do anything about it.

"I can't imagine you being unfair to anyone, Leigh. There's no one sweeter or more considerate. I see the way you are with Troy," he said smiling. I didn't say anything. "I know I'm a poor substitute," he continued, "but I wish you would think of me as you would a father. I know you think me too young, but I have a great deal of experience. My wealth and responsibilities have aged me far beyond my years." He smiled again, shifted his position, studied me, worked and then stopped and studied me some more.

"Anyway," he said after a while, "if you ever have any problems you can't discuss with your mother, I wish you would come to me."

"Thank you, Tony," I said.

"I'd enjoy helping you." He worked with other tools, scraping, making fine touches, studying me, working, on and on like that for well over an hour. Finally, he stood up and announced he was finished.

"That's it," he said. "Your job's over. Now I've got to get this cast. I think I'll turn the actual painting over to one of my best artists."

I was finished? No more nude modeling? What an easy final day, but I realized I hadn't seen the finished sculpture. "Can I see it now?"

"Of course," he said stepping back. He gestured toward the clay figure. I got up slowly and walked around to face it. The moment I looked at it, my face turned beet red and I gasped. My head was reeling. I felt hot all over, then cold. My face was perfect but he had sculpted every detail and every part of my body with such exaggeration, it looked pornographic. Everyone could see this . . . boys . . . everyone.

"What's wrong?" he asked, his eyes narrowing to tiny blue slits.

"Tony, you can't show everyone this. It's embarrassing. Dolls don't have . . . have . . ."

"Genitals? No, dolls don't, but a portrait doll is a work of art, I told you."

"NO!" I cried. "I can't let you put my face on this. I can't," I said.

"But it will be only your doll. No one else will have this one. They'll want their own."

"But they'll be looking at this one to see what theirs will be like."

"It will be dressed when they look at it."

"But then why did you do this?"

He looked at me and then at the doll as if the answer were on the doll's lips. Then he reached out and caressed the clay figure. As he did so his eyes became dreamy and faraway as I had seen happen before.

"Because . . . as I said . . it's a work of art."

"No, I won't let you put my picture beside it. I won't!" insisted. He stared at me a moment. Then his eyes turned cold, even colder than before. They lost their faraway look and focused hard on me.

"All right," he said angrily. "I'll change it. You're finished now. You can go," he snapped.

I walked to the door. When I looked back, I saw he was standing there staring down at the doll, his face as hard and as still as a sculpted one. I left the cottage and hurried on through the maze. Before I was halfway through, I began to run the rest of the way, fleeing the image of myself naked and exposed for everyone to see.

Fifteen ANGEL

. A lthough I had looked forward so much to my summer vacation, I was happy when it drew to a close and I would return to Winterhaven. I missed Jennifer. I had told her about the portrait doll, but I hadn't told her about my nude posing. And I never got to visit her. After I finished my work for the doll, Momma found one reason or another why I shouldn't leave. I asked her again, weeks before I was to return to school, but she said I would see my friends soon enough. A few days later she decided she wanted to take me to New York City to shop for new clothing for school and new clothing for herself as well. It was a whirlwind trip because almost as soon as we arrived, she decided it was too hot to stay. After only one night in New York and shopping in just two

department stores, we returned to Farthy.

Throughout most of August Tony did a great deal of traveling, establishing new markets across the country for his toys and especially for portrait dolls. I had yet to see the finished product. He had done as he said and turned the fine artwork over to one of his better artisans, a man he had imported from Europe, a man who had worked on these dolls there. Tony told my mother and me that he didn't want us to see it until it was completely done, down to the last eyelash.

The changing weather caused Troy to develop a new allergy. It got so bad that for one week at the end of August, he had to be in the hospital. The doctors did dozens of tests on him, trying to find the best antidotes for his problems. I had Miles take me to visit him every day, but Momma never went once. She always seemed to have something else to do, someplace to go, people to see.

Finally, the day came when I was packed off for my return to Winterhaven. Our private school began a week earlier than the public schools. It had been one of the warmest summers on record, but toward the very end of August, the weather made an about-face. Autumn came charging in on the heels of the wind and the rain, turning the leaves into the rainbow colors of fall almost overnight. Temperatures sunk and the hazy blue sky became a deeper and sharper blue.

I didn't mind. I always loved fall, loved the colors and the brisk breezes. The air was fresh and filled me with energy and hope. I had received two phone calls from Daddy, one on his return from Maine, just before his honeymoon, and one right after that. Each time, he left me with the promise of seeing me, but something happened with his schedule or his business that made it impossible. We left it that I might spend my Christmas holiday with him and Mildred.