He thought for a moment and then nodded.
"Yes. Yes, Olivia, I think this is a sensible young man. I hope you enjoy your evening," he concluded and went off to smoke his cigar.
Mother lost herself in a flurry of activity that week, preparing me for my "perfect" date. As it turned out, the dress she thought was just right was not and she insisted we go to Boston. I tried to change her mind.
"It's not an important event for me, Mother. It's just a date. I even hate that word. It's not a date. It's a . . . scheduled event," I said.
"Nonsense. Every time a young woman goes out in public, socializes, it's a major event, Olivia. There's no harm in your making yourself as attractive and as presentable as possible, is there?"
"I guess not," I said reluctantly. Maybe she was right, I thought. Maybe I was not putting enough emphasis on myself, my looks, my image. Maybe it was time to be more of a woman than a successful daughter. I let her lead me about, have me measured, pampered, styled and dressed until I dared to look at myself in the mirror and conclude I, too, could be attractive, pretty, and I, too, coul
d break men's hearts. Belinda did not have a monopoly on beauty in this family. It was time I gave her some competition.
Precisely at six-fifteen on the night of the gallery opening, Clayton drove up to our house and pressed the door buzzer. I waited upstairs, my heart pounding mostly because of sheer nervousness. I was just like an actress with stage fright, unsure that my feet would move forward. I had no reason to be insecure. My hair was cut and shaped into the most fashionable style. I wore a sparkling gold and diamond necklace, and gold earrings with tiny pearls. Mother gave me two of her rings as well. My dress was made of emerald green silk, with a V-shaped neckline that plunged farther than I would have liked. Mother insisted I put makeup on my neck and breast bone with just a touch of rouge on that part of my bosom that was visible. Many times I had chastised Belinda for looking too seductive. Now, I struggled not to chastise myself.
Up until the time Clayton arrived, Mother hovered about me like a magic sylph, fluttering her tiny wings, touching a strand of hair here, brushing out a crease there, straightening my necklace and checking to be sure my perfume was not too strong and not too weak.
"Oh you're beautiful, Olivia. You really are. Belinda would be deathly jealous," she said, which brought a smile to my face.
Belinda had called in the afternoon. Mother had kept her abreast of my preparations, and Belinda moaned and whined about not being able to be here to see me.
"I'm stuck up here learning how to walk with a book on my head and sit properly and stand properly and choose the right fork and spoon, while you go out on dates! It's not fair, Olivia."
"You've gone out on many dates, Belinda. One too many," I reminded her coldly. "And besides, while I was in finishing school learning these things, you were having more good times than you should."
"Oh poop," she cried. "If you really cared about me, you'd get Daddy to have my prison sentence reduced up here. That's all this place is, Olivia, a fancy prison for snobs. I haven't been able to make a single friend. I just see lots of nostrils. They hold their noses too high."
I had to laugh at that.
"I'm absolutely, terribly miserable. Even the male teachers are . . . are like old ladies. They don't give me a second look unless it's to teach me something stupid like how to correctly address someone for the first time."
"Just think of how accomplished you'll be when you graduate," I said.
"I don't care," she said and started to catalogue a whole new set of complaints.
"I've got to go," I interrupted. "I have too much to do to waste any more time."
"Then go. Go and have a wonderful time and then think of me locked up and chained by the rules," she concluded.
I heard the door buzzer and sucked in my breath.
"That's Clayton," Mother declared. She opened my bedroom door as if she were pulling back a stage curtain. "Have a good time, Olivia."
"Thank you, Mother," I said.
Carmelita had let Clayton in. He stood in the foyer looking up as I descended. I thought he resembled a bank teller in his suit and tie, waiting to receive a deposit. I hoped he would stop being so stiff when we were alone.
Daddy came rushing out of his office.
"Well, now, looky here. Doesn't she look beautiful, Clayton?" he urged.
"Yes, sir," he said and turned to me. "You look very nice."
"Thank you."
Carmelita stood off to the side, watching without expression. When I turned to her, however, her eyebrows rose and a look of genuine surprise formed on her face. It made me feel more confident. I guess I did look beautiful. I only wished Clayton would have been more demonstrative when he spoke and looked at me.
"Well," he said gazing at his watch, "we're on schedule. Shall we go?"