Cutler 03 - Twilight's Child

relied heavily on the advice of the old-timers and didn't attempt to change anything they had been doing for years and years.
    "What have you heard about Beulla Woods, Jimmy?" I asked. Curiosity filled me. I couldn't help but be interested in Mr. Alcott, not only because of Mother's friendship with him, but because of the debonair and suave way he had swept into my life, flashing that charming smile, drinking me in with those laughing blue eyes. Whenever I saw him he seemed to have an alluring and provocative grin.
    And there was a mystery about him. He was a handsome and engaging man who carried himself with the self-confidence of a famous movie star. Well-to-do, important and obviously well educated, he presented a striking figure. Why, then, had he remained unmarried all these years? Was it what Mrs. Boston thought—he was too brokenhearted over not marrying Mother?
    "Well, for one thing, Buster says that the house is enormous for one man to be living in it alone. He's got some servants, of course, but the house has ten bedrooms, a sitting room, a formal living room, a library and an office. He says the kitchen's half as big as our hotel kitchen, and it's all on one hundred and fifty rolling acres with a view of the cove and the sea that will take your breath away. He has a pool and a tennis court in the rear, too.
    "Buster says his father built the house after he returned from the First World War. It's one of those Norman cottages."
    "Cottage?"
    "Well, that's what they call the style. It's French, but it looks a little like English Tudor, too," he added, proud of his new knowledge.
    "It sounds like you and Buster talked a lot about Mr. Alcott's home," I teased.
    "Yeah, well, I'm interested in houses and construction and stuff. I told you," he added, his face a little crimson, "I intend to build us a house someday. I've even got a piece of the hotel property picked out—up on a little rise at the northwest end. Buster says it's perfect for the sort of house I'm designing."
    "Really? Oh, Jimmy, that would be wonderful." He beamed.
    "Anyhow," he said, "I don't mind looking at Beulla Woods close up."
    And so on Tuesday we got dressed up to accompany Mother in the hotel limousine. I hadn't really bought any new clothing since my days in New York City attending the Sarah Bernhardt School of Performing Arts. At Mother's suggestion I took off Monday afternoon and went shopping for something appropriate to wear to a formal dinner. I found an elegant-looking black satin gown with spaghetti straps and a black silk sash. Mother was literally ecstatic when she saw what I had bought.
    "It's perfect," she cried, holding it up against herself and gazing in my mirror. "Absolutely perfect. We're almost the same size," she commented. "Maybe you'll let me borrow it one day."
    "Of course, Mother," I replied.
    "Oh, let me help you dress tomorrow night," she begged. "Please."
    "I know how to get dressed, Mother," I said. Her smile wilted so much I thought she might burst into tears. "But I don't mind you giving me some hints," I added charitably.
    "Good," she said, hugging my new dress to her bosom. She closed her eyes. "We'll be like mother and daughter getting ready for an important ball . . . like a debutante's ball. Oh, I can't wait," she cried.
    True to her promise, she was at my side the following day as I began to prepare to go to Bronson Alcott's dinner. Following her suggestion, I changed my hairstyle somewhat by brushing and pinning one side. I let her brush and trim my bangs. Then she insisted I go back to her suite and sit beside her while we did our makeup together. Jimmy shook his head, laughing as she seized my hand and pulled me away.
    But as she sat there giving me instructions on how to do my eyes, how to work in the makeup, what color lipstick to choose and what perfume to wear, I couldn't help wondering what it might have been like if she and I had been together since my birth. It made me feel a bit guilty to wonder, for I truly missed Momma Longchamp and mourned her passing; but I couldn't help longing for the feminine things.
    I would have had beautiful dresses and stylish clothes. As I grew up, Mother and I would have been like two princesses in the hotel. Maybe she wouldn't have become so self-centered if she had had a daughter with whom she could really share things. We could have been good friends, confiding in each other, sharing hopes and fears.
    All these things I longed for, I vowed Christie would have.