attention to diction I didn't recognize. I waited and
called again just to hear the voice. It sounds like her, I
told myself. It must be Mommy.
Dorothy entered the parlor, a small white
angora cat in her arms.
"This is Fluffy," she said. "Isn't she beautiful?"
"Yes, she is."
"Philip won't let me keep her in the house
proper. She stays with Selena. He says whenever she's
permitted to run through the house, she leaves hairs
everywhere. He's so finicky about the house. If a
piece of dust is out of place, Philip knows it." She sighed and sat in the soft cushioned chair
across from me, the cat purring in her lap.
"So, did you try calling that woman?" "I got an answering machine," I said. "It sounds
like my mother."
"Did you leave a message?"
"No. I wasn't sure what to say."
"She might have been there, listening," Dorothy
said, nodding. "People often do that here. They wait to
see if it's someone important and then they answer. If
it's not someone important enough, they let the
machine take the call. It's a power thing, Philip says." "Power thing?"
"Yes, you just don't speak to anyone. It
diminishes your importance."
"I can't imagine my mother thinking that way." "Well, if this woman wants to be someone in
the industry, she behaves that way, believe me. I've
met enough of them."
I thought about it. What was it Billy Maxwell
had told me just before I had left New York . . . be
prepared to find a very different woman, even if she