Cutler - Midnight Whipsers Part 2

"Let's go," he said to Melanie.

"Oh," Melanie said, turning. "Happy birthday, Christie."

"Yes," Richard cried like a parrot. "Happy birthday."

Jefferson followed them away and I headed for the kitchen. Mr. Nussbaum's face brightened the moment he set his eyes on me. Mommy said he had been with the hotel forever and probably lied about his age. She estimated him to be in his early eighties.

During the last few years, he had agreed to take on an a.s.sistant, his nephew Leon, a tall, lanky, brown-haired man with sleepy chestnut eyes. Although he always looked half-awake, he was a wonderful chef and practically the only person Nussbaum would tolerate interfering in his kitchen.

"Ali, the birthday girl," Nussbaum said. "Come . . . see," he beckoned and I approached one of the counters on which he had trays and trays of hors d'oeuvres prepared. "There will be three different kinds of shrimp, each baked in a special dough, fried won-tons, fried zucchini and a cheese selection, some with ham and some with bacon. That one Leon made," he added and pointed. "Come," he said and took my hand to show me the fine cuts of prime rib.

"I have a chicken in wine sauce for those who don't want the beef. See what my baker has made," he added, showing me the small rolls and breads. The breads were shaped into musical notes.

"You can't see the cake yet. That's a big surprise," Mr. Nussbaum said.

"It all looks so wonderful."

"So, why shouldn't it be wonderful? It's for a wonderful young lady. Right, Leon?"

"Oh, yes, yes," he said, cracking a smile quickly.

"My nephew," Mr. Nussbaum said, shaking his head. "That's why I can never retire." He beamed his smile at me. "But you don't worry about anything. Just enjoy."

"Thank you, Mr. Nussbaum," I said. I left the kitchen and headed for the lobby, but when I rounded the corner, I met Uncle Philip, who was coming from the old section of the hotel.

"Christie," he cried. "How wonderful-a chance to congratulate my favorite niece privately.

Happy birthday." He embraced me and pulled me to him and then pressed his lips to my forehead, softly at first and then, surprising me by continuing his kiss down the side of my head to my cheek.

Uncle Philip was handsome, a debonair man who always dressed elegantly in tailored sports jackets and slacks with creases so sharp they looked like they could cut your fingers, gold and diamond cufflinks, gold rings, and gold watches. His hair was always well trimmed and brushed, not a strand out of place. I never saw him with shoes not polished into mirrors. His idea of being sloppy was wearing a jacket without a tie.

Aunt Bet was just as prim and prissy, not wearing anything that wasn't in style or created by some designer. She never came down unless her hair was perfect and her make-up was applied to bring out what she believed were her best features: her long eyelashes, thin mouth and small chin.

Uncle Philip did not release me after he lifted his lips from my cheek. He held me out at arms'

length and looked down at me, nodding.

"You have become a very, very lovely young lady, even lovelier than your mother was at your age,"

he said softly, so softly it was practically a whisper.

"Oh no, I'm not, Uncle Philip. I'm not prettier than Mommy."

He laughed, but still kept me in his arms. I was beginning to feel uncomfortable. I knew that Uncle Philip loved me, but sometimes I felt I was too old for his affectionate hugs and caresses and they embarra.s.sed me. I tried to shrug out of his arms without being rude, but his hold grew a little tighter.

"I like the way you're wearing your hair these days," he said. "Your bangs make you look very grown-up, very sophisticated." He ran his forefinger along my forehead gently.

"Thank you, Uncle Philip. I'd better get out front. Aunt Trisha is arriving any moment."

"Oh yes, Trisha," he said, smirking. "That woman drives me mad sometimes. She can't sit still.

She's always spinning and turning and rushing here and there, and those hands . . they're like two birds attached to her wrists always trying to break free."

"She's like that because she's a performer, Uncle Philip."

"Right. The theater," he said, his voice light but his look serious as he looked down, still holding me.

"I've got to go," I repeated.

"Me too. Happy birthday again," he said, kissing my cheek once more before he released me.

"Thank you," I said and hurried away, something wistful in his look making my heart skip a beat.

Just as I entered the lobby, I saw Mommy greeting Aunt Trisha. They hugged as I ran across the lobby. Aunt Trisha was wearing a dark red dress with a long skirt that came nearly down to her ankles.

When she spun around, the skirt flew about like the skirt of a flamenco dancer. She had sandals with straps up her calves and wore a white shawl loosely around her shoulders. Her dark brown hair was drawn back from her face and pinned up in a chignon that I thought looked very glamorous. Long earrings made of sea sh.e.l.ls dangled from her lobes.

"Darling Christie!" she cried and held out her arms for me. "Look at you," she said, holding me out at the shoulders. "You grow more beautiful every time I visit. This one's headed for the stage, Dawn," she said, nodding.

"Perhaps," Mammy said, gazing at me proudly.

"Are you hungry, Trish?"

"Ravenously. Oh, I can't wait for your party,"

she said to me.

"I'll tell Julius to bring your things to the house," Mommy said. "You'll be staying there . . . in Fern's room," she added.

"Isn't she coming home from college for this?"

Aunt Trisha asked, her eyes wide with surprise.

"Yes, but she agreed to stay at the hotel," Mommy said. The look between Aunt Trisha and Mommy explained it all-how glad Mommy was that Aunt Fern was staying at the hotel instead of the house, how there had been new problems, problems my parents tried to discuss privately. But the walls have ears and both Jefferson and I knew Aunt Fern had gotten into some serious trouble at college again recently.

"Come," Mommy said. "I'll take you to the kitchen for something special. You know how Nussbaum likes to fuss over you. And we'll catch up."

"Okay. Christie, I have the show programs in my suitcase."

"Oh thank you, Aunt Trisha." I kissed her again and she and Mommy went off to the kitchen, the two of them talking a mile a minute, neither waiting for the other to finish a sentence.

The rest of the day moved far too slowly for me. Of course, I was antic.i.p.ating Gavin's arrival and hovered about the front of the hotel as much as I could. Finally, late in the afternoon, a taxicab from the airport arrived. I rushed out and down the steps hoping it was Granddaddy Longchamp, Edwina and Gavin, but Aunt Fern stepped out instead.

She wore a pair of old jeans and a faded sweatshirt. Since I had seen her last, she had chopped her hair off, her beautiful, long silky black hair that Daddy said reminded him so much of his mother's hair. My heart sank, knowing how disappointed he was going to be.

Aunt Fern was tall, almost as tall as Daddy, and had a model's figure-long legs and slim torso.

Despite the terrible things she did to herself: smoking everything from cigarettes to tiny cigars, drinking and carousing into the early morning hours, she had a remarkably clear and soft complexion. She had Daddy's dark eyes, only hers were smaller, narrower, and at times, downright sneaky. I hated the way she pulled her upper lip up in the corner when something annoyed her.

"Take the bag inside," she commanded the driver when he lifted it from the trunk. Then she saw me.

"Well, if it isn't the princess herself. Happy sweet sixteen," she said and took a pack of cigarettes from her back pocket. Her pants were so tight fitting, I couldn't imagine any room for anything in the pockets. She stuck a cigarette in her mouth quickly and lit it as she looked at the hotel. "Every time I come back here, my body tightens into knots," she muttered.

"Hi Aunt Fern," I finally said. She flashed a quick smile.

"Where the h.e.l.l's everybody? In their offices?"

she added sarcastically.

"Mommy's with Aunt Trisha at the house and Daddy's in the back working on the grounds."

"Aunt Trisha," she said disdainfully. "Has she taken a breath yet?"

"I like Aunt Trisha very much," I said.

"First off, she's not really your aunt so I don't know why you insist on calling her that, and second, good for you." She paused, took a puff, blew the smoke straight up, and then gazed at me. "Guess what I got for you for your birthday," she said, smiling coyly.

"I can't imagine," I said.

"I'll give it to you later, but you can't show it to your mother or tell her I gave it to you. Promise?"

"What is it?" I asked, intrigued.

"A copy of Lady Chatterley's Lover. It's about time you found out what it's all about," she added.

"Well, here I go. Home again," she said and marched up the stairs and into the hotel.

A ripple of apprehension shot down my spine. I hadn't spoken to her for more than a few minutes, but already my heart was pounding in antic.i.p.ation of what was yet to come. Aunt Fern was like unexpected lightning and thunder shaking the very foundations of any happiness. I looked out toward the ocean. The clouds were still thick, still rolling in with fervor, determined to hold back the sunshine. I bowed my head and started up the stairs when I heard the sound of a horn and turned to see another taxi approaching.

A hand was waving from the rear window, and then I saw a face.

It was Gavin, his wonderful smile driving the emptiness out of the pit of my stomach and bringing the hope of sunshine back as quickly as it had been driven away.

And Never Been . .

GAVIN STEPPED OUT OF THE TAXI.

QUICKLY, BUT paused. I wanted to run to him and hug him, but I knew that would turn his face bright crimson and send him stuttering with embarra.s.sment if I did any such thing, especially in front of his mother and father. I called his father Granddaddy Longchamp because he was Daddy's father. He was a tall, lean man with deeply cut lines in his face. His dark brown hair had thinned considerably, but he still wore it brushed back on the sides and flat on top.

More and more gray had snuck in since I had last seen him, especially along his temples. His lanky frame, long arms and hands, and often sad eyes made me think of Abraham Lincoln.

Gavin's mother, Edwina, was a very sweet and warm woman who spoke softly and seemed always terribly in awe of the hotel and the family. Aunt Fern never hesitated to remind her in whatever ways she could that she was only her stepmother, this despite the friendliness and love Edwina tried to show her. In his letters and whenever we were together, Gavin often told me about the mean things Aunt Fern had said or done to his mother.

"She's my half-sister," he told me, "but I'd much rather she wasn't."

"Well now," Granddaddy Longchamp exclaimed when he stepped out of the taxi, "the birthday girl!"

"Happy birthday, honey," Edwina cried, as Granddaddy Longchamp kissed me on the cheek and then looked around, his hands on his hips, standing just the way Daddy stood sometimes.

"Hi Gavin," I said, anxiously turning to him.

"Hi." His eyes quickly turned soft, meeting and locking with mine.

"Where's Jimmy?" Granddaddy Longchamp asked, but before I could reply, Daddy appeared in the doorway.

"Hey, Pop, welcome," he cried, coming down to them. He hugged and kissed Edwina and helped them with their bags. Gavin and I followed behind then as we all entered the hotel.

"How was your trip?" I asked Gavin. I tried not to stare at him, but I could see he had grown taller and his face had filled out, so he looked more mature.

"It was long and boring," Gavin replied and then added, "I wish I lived a lot closer to you."

"So do I," I confessed. He flicked a quick smile at me and looked around the hotel lobby. "Anything different?"

"Wait until you see the grand ballroom," I told him.

"You coming up to our suite, Gavin?" Granddaddy Longchamp asked him.

"It's all right. I'll see to your things," his mother said, seeing his reluctance. "He wants to visit with Christie. They haven't seen each other for quite a while," she said and Gavin turned red with embarra.s.sment. I didn't know any boy as shy.

"Thanks, Mom," he muttered and gazed at something on the other side of the lobby.

As soon as Daddy walked off with Granddaddy Longchamp and Edwina, I turned to Gavin.

"Do you want to take a walk through the gardens and to the pool?" I asked. "They're doing a lot of work out there."

"Fine. I bet you have a lot of your school friends coming tonight," he said as we started away.

"Everyone in my cla.s.s. I didn't have the heart to leave anyone out"

"Oh? Any new friends since your last letter?"

he asked tentatively. I knew what he meant: did I have a new boyfriend?

"No," I said. His smile widened and his shoulders rose as he brushed back his long black hair, hair as ebony as Daddy's. He had the longest eyelashes, too, so long and thick they appeared false. "What about you?" I asked.

"Nope,' ", he said. "I'm still hanging around with Tony and Doug and Jerry. I didn't tell you, but Doug's sister got engaged and married all in a month,"

he added as he pa.s.sed through the rear exit and out to the walkways.

"A month!"

"Well," he said, pausing, "she had to."

"Oh. Is everybody upset?" I asked.

"I guess so. Doug doesn't talk about it much.

Every family has its black sheep, I guess. Which reminds me," he said, "is Fern here yet?"