Bittersweet Dreams (35 page)

I wiped tears off my cheeks. “Maybe intelligence isn't everything after all, Daddy. Maybe we underestimate the power of feelings. I was hurt, and logic didn't make it any better this time.”

“What exactly happened between you and him?”

I sat for a moment looking out the window, wishing I were like a cloud that could be blown toward the horizon and not have to linger in one place.

“Mayfair?”

“What usually happens between men and women?”

“When?”

“The day Julie sold me out in school, that day, that afternoon and evening.”

He thought a moment. “The time you said you were at the library?”

“I guess it qualifies as research now and nothing more.” I turned to him. “I don't want you doing anything about it now. It's too late.”

“You should have come to me. You shouldn't have tried to get revenge or justice this way, Mayfair.”

“Should have and could have are probably the most used concepts since the invention of the wheel.”

He nodded. “Well, Julie is rightfully upset, Mayfair. My marriage is in real jeopardy here.”

He knew my feelings about his marriage. He didn't have to hear it. “I wouldn't call that jeopardy,” I muttered nevertheless.

“She makes me happy, Mayfair. It's not up to you to judge that. I have a life to live, too. I mourned your mother's passing. I suffered. I was ready to give everything up and not care, but I wanted to be strong for you until you could be strong for yourself, and when I thought you were, I looked after myself somewhat, too. I don't feel guilty about it, and you will never make me feel guilty about it.

“No father could ever be prouder of a daughter than I was of you. I was right there for all your amazing awards. I bragged about you until my business associates wanted to take me out to be shot. My office walls are covered with your plaques, citations, and letters from every respected institution that involves academic accomplishment.

“During those early years after your mother's death, I tried to be your mother and father. I did the best I could. You've gone way too far this time, Mayfair. Not this school and certainly not Julie and I are capable of giving you what you need, apparently.”

He lowered his head and sat quietly for a long moment. The tears that burned inside my eyes boiled over. I turned away quickly, and then he rose and left my room.

When I was very young, reading books that college-age kids were struggling with and doing math problems that high-school teachers wouldn't attempt, much less try to teach to seniors, I used to wonder if I had really been born like other children. The possibility occurred to me, especially after reading
Frankenstein
, that I might have been created in some laboratory. I asked my mother.

At first, she laughed, but then she saw that I was really thinking it might be so.

“Oh, no, no, Mayfair,” she cried, and hugged me. “You were born on a very sunny morning. I was dreaming of giving birth to you and woke up when my water broke. Your father was so nervous and excited that he was very funny. He put on two completely different shoes and never realized it until he was at the hospital.

“It was only five fifteen in the morning, but on the way there, he stopped at that traffic light at the base of our road, the one everyone complains about because there's so little traffic that it barely needs a stop sign, and he just stayed there waiting for it to change while I was moaning. He suddenly realized how silly and nervous he was acting and shot ahead. These were wonderful memories for us after you were born.

“The moment I looked at your face, I knew you were going to be something special. Two days old, and you looked at me and listened as if you were already two years old. You were the favorite of the maternity nurses, too.

“No, my darling, wonderful little girl, you were not created in a laboratory, unless you want to call my womb a laboratory.”

She held me and laughed.

I could hear her melodic laugh now. I hadn't heard it for so long. It had been buried under too much in my brain, maybe, but when I remembered it now, it didn't make me smile. It made me cry.

I held myself and curled up in my bed, wishing I had someone who loved me holding me instead. I rocked and cried like a little girl.

Finally, sleep caught up with me, but I welcomed it. Thankfully, it was the weekend, and I didn't have to get up early and go to school. My father had decided yesterday that he was going to take us all for a ride to the Fashion Plaza in Newport Beach, where Julie could enjoy some shopping. We were all to go to lunch in Laguna Beach, but I didn't feel like getting up, much less going for a ride and spending a day with Julie and Allison now. I was anticipating her look of disgust and condemnation, even though she had probably promised my father she would not mention anything. When I didn't go down for breakfast, my father came up.

“Are you sick?” he asked. “Are you in pain from that cut on your head or anything?”

“No.”

“Well, are you going with us today?”

“I'm tired,” I said.

“Suit yourself,” he replied, and left quickly. He had no patience for me and no forgiveness yet. I wondered if he ever would.

Later, I rose and had a little to eat. I wasn't happy being alone in the house this time. Normally, I could distract myself with reading or research, but I couldn't concentrate on anything. Impulsively, I dressed and called for a taxi to take me to Santa Monica. I had no idea why until I got out and walked on the beach. It took me only moments to realize I wanted to relive what had been the most exciting day and night of my life. It was the first time I could really say that I felt more like a young woman than a super-brilliant prodigy.

I took off my shoes, folded my arms under my breasts, and walked down the beach, sometimes stepping into the water and remembering how it had felt that afternoon when I was walking with Alan Taylor and how we had laughed about it. I recalled how I had begun to relax and become more and more fascinated with him, with how he opened up to talk about himself, which only encouraged me to do the same. I was telling him things I hadn't told anyone else, some things, in fact, that I had never told my father.

I remembered thinking,
I can do this. I can have a relationship with him secretly but intensely.
He was complimenting me in ways I had never been complimented and touching me in places that longed to be touched. As we walked, it really seemed like we passed through an invisible wall into a new world of possibilities. What he was back at school, what I was back at school, drifted behind us, blown away by our smiles and laughter. We were simply a man and a woman enjoying each other's conversation, each other's company, and the beauty surrounding us.

I had no idea how long I had been walking now. I suddenly stopped and realized I was close to Alan Taylor's apartment building. For a moment, I just stood there staring at it, the sea breeze threading through my hair. I turned off from the beach and stopped at a bench along the walkway to put on my shoes. I sat there thinking, remembering. The images and feelings were as vivid as ever, especially since I was so close.

Just as I was about to get up, walk back a little, and then call for a taxi home, I saw Alan coming up the sidewalk. He was holding hands with a very attractive strawberry-blond-haired woman who was only about an inch shorter than he was. She wore a pair of designer jeans, with glittering jeweled patterns on the sides of the legs, and a pink short-sleeved blouse. She had the svelte figure of a model and wore a pair of very fashionable sunglasses.

I froze and watched them. They were laughing at something and looked very happy. Perhaps he was telling the truth about becoming engaged, I thought. I didn't wait for them to enter his building. I turned quickly and headed down the walkway. The sight of him looking so fresh and young, in his dark blue jeans and tailored white shirt, seemed to rattle my brain. I hated feeling the excitement rush through my body. I felt like some lovesick teenage girl, more like Allison, and I wanted to pound my legs with my closed fists. I was walking quickly but slowed down to catch my breath.

For a few moments, I stood looking down and then raised my head to look out at the ocean, just as I heard him call my name. Had I imagined it, wished for it so much that I convinced myself I really had heard it? Very slowly, I turned and saw him standing there alone.

“Why did you come down here?” he asked.

“Oh, is this private property? I hadn't realized it,” I said.

“You know what I mean, Mayfair.”

“I had to get out of my house for a while, and I wanted the sea air. I haven't been spying on you, if that's what you think.”

“It did occur to me.”

“Yes, I imagine it would. Your ego has enough room for all favorable possibilities.”

He nodded, looked back at his apartment building, and stepped closer. “You're right to hate me, and I deserve your wrath and all that happened as a result. I did feel sorry for your stepsister. But she's not any more impressionable than any of them.”

“Them?”

“Girls her age. I did consider the possibility that you might have believed I abused her, but I never intended to abuse you.”

“What would you call it?”

“A man's weakness, I suppose. And you're right about my ego. I rationalized that I was giving you something special, too. What I told you is still true, Mayfair. You're a beautiful young woman with an amazing mind. You fascinated me, and for a while, I did fool myself into believing it was possible for us to carry on, but as difficult as it might be for you to believe, the mature man in me finally got control. I should have handled it differently. I was a coward.”

I looked away. As much as I wanted to, I couldn't hate him.

“Why didn't you turn me in instead of using Allison?”

I didn't answer.

“I'll tell you why,” he said, and I turned to him.

“Oh, you will? Tell me.”

“Pride. That's going to be your one weakness, Mayfair, your
hubris
. See, I know my classic tragedy, even though I only teach junior-high English. You're constantly told how high up you are. You can't let yourself admit to being human, because that's what having a weakness means, being human.”

My eyes felt as if the tears that had been building up were frozen.

“Don't judge every man you'll meet by what happened between us, by what I did and didn't do. Be kind. Be forgiving. You don't want to be with a man who is your equal. You want someone who will need you and whom you'll need, Mayfair. It's not a sin to need someone. I wish you luck,” he said. “I really do.” He smiled and walked away.

My chest ached. I couldn't swallow. I watched him disappear, and then I turned and walked for another hour before I called a taxi.

I wasn't prepared for the depth of depression I fell into that night. My father called from the freeway to tell me they were staying longer than anticipated and would stop for dinner before returning to Los Angeles. When I didn't even utter a grunt to acknowledge him, he asked if I had heard him.

“I heard you.”

“What have you been doing all day, Mayfair?” he asked suspiciously. For a moment, I wondered if he had decided to have me watched or something.

“Nothing out of the ordinary for me,” I said, which was cryptic enough.

“All right. Tell Martha what you would like for dinner,” he said.

“Okay,” I replied to end the call.

I didn't tell our maid anything. I took an apple upstairs with me and, after sitting and thinking for a while, went to sleep early. I didn't even hear them come home. If my father checked on me, I never noticed that, either. I was up before everyone the next morning, however. I had some coffee and buttered toast and went for a walk before sitting at the pool. It was nearly an hour and a half later when my father walked out to see what I was up to.

“How's your head?” he asked.

I laughed.

“What's so funny, Mayfair?”

“That's probably always been the most important part of me in your eyes and everyone else's,” I said, which clearly upset him.

“You're acting like a girl half your age, and I don't mean chronological,” he replied. “I'm taking Julie and Allison to the movies this afternoon to see the new Nick Razor blockbuster. Would you like to join us?”

Nick Razor was a detective in the future who was nostalgic for the past. The films were filled with special effects and nonstop action, what my father called popcorn movies. When I was a little girl, I did go to those sorts of movies with him and my mother, but I hadn't for some time.

“No, thanks,” I said.

“Everyone's trying, Mayfair, but if you don't, this will go nowhere.”

“I'm already there,” I said.

He nodded, bit down on his lower lip, and turned and walked back to the house, his shoulders slumped. I closed my eyes and nearly fell asleep again. I knew my depression was continuing even more intensely after confronting Alan Taylor the day before, but I felt helpless, really helpless, for the first time in a long time. When I returned to the house, everyone already had left for lunch and the movies. I went up to my room and tried to do some reading, but my mind wouldn't absorb anything. I couldn't even watch television. Nothing held my attention. I went out again, walked again, and remembered that I hadn't eaten anything since my coffee and toast. It was only the realization that drove me to eat anything. I wasn't really hungry.

Afterward, I went up to my room and dozed until I heard my father, Julie, and Allison return. No one bothered me until just before dinner, when my father sent Allison to my room to tell me to come down to eat.

Reluctantly, I did. Everyone else seemed nervous. I was too numb to be nervous. They talked incessantly, it seemed to me, about the movie. I ate mechanically and then announced that I had a headache and was going up to rest.