Cutler 04 - Midnight Whispers

smiling in the mirror. "Too bad Grandmother Laura isn't well enough to be here with us. She would be parading up and down behind us like a coach, telling us what shades of lipstick and makeup to wear, what earrings, how to wear our hair."
    "I want to look like you, Mommy," I said. "Natural, simple, myself. I don't want to put on tons and tons of makeup and impress people with pounds of jewelry."
    She laughed.
    "Nevertheless," she said, "there are a few things we can do with our looks—fix our eyebrows, a little rouge, the most complimentary shade of lipstick, and perfume." She squirted a drop of her favorite scent down my cleavage and under the towel I had wrapped around me. We both laughed loudly, loudly enough to bring Daddy to our doorway.
    "I thought I had wandered into the dorm at some college," he declared, smiling.
    "Never mind, James Gary Longchamp, just be sure you put on your tuxedo like you promised. You should be flattered, Christie," Mommy added, "he's doing it only because it's for you. I can't get him to wear a tie otherwise."
    "Why a woman can be as comfortable as she wants and a man has to wear a monkey suit is beyond me," Daddy complained. "But," he said quickly when Mommy scowled, "I'm doing it, gladly doing it." He backed out, his hands up.
    When he was gone, Mommy's face softened, her glowing eyes and radiant complexion betraying a love that still loomed larger than life.
    "Men are babies," she said. "Remember that. Even the strongest and toughest are more sensitive than they care to admit."
    "I know. Gavin's like that," I said.
    She stared at me a moment, that angelic smile on her lips.
    "You like Gavin very much, don't you?" she asked.
    "Yes," I said tentatively. She nodded as if con-firming a suspicion.
    "Don't you like him, too, Mommy?"
    "Oh yes. He's a very sensitive and polite young man, but you have a long time to go before you fall in love with anyone," she said. "You will have dozens of boyfriends."
    "You didn't," I said quickly. "Are you sorry you didn't?"
    She thought a moment.
    "Sometimes," she confessed. "I wouldn't trade Jimmy for anyone, but I wish I'd had a normal childhood and gone to lots of dances and on dates and . . ."
    "You had no boyfriend when you went to high school and didn't go on dates?" I asked. Her dreamy look instantly faded.
    "Not really," she said quickly. "Oh Christie," she added, "let's stop talking about depressing subjects and just think about your wonderful party. Back to work," she commanded and we returned to our hair and makeup.
    But why, I wondered, was talk about high school boyfriends so upsetting? Every time I learned something new about my mother, it brought a lot of mysterious baggage along with it. One puzzle was no sooner solved when another was just as quickly born. Questions fell like rain around me.
    After we completed our hair and makeup, Mommy went to her room to dress and I put on my gown. I had just slipped on my shoes and gone back to the mirror when Aunt Trisha knocked on my door.
    "Can I have a peek?" she asked, poking her head in.
    "Yes, of course."
    "Oh honey, you look so beautiful. I hope they take dozens and dozens of pictures," she exclaimed.
    "Thank you, so do you, Aunt Trisha." She still had her hair up but now she wore a dress of shimmering periwinkle blue. Around her neck was the most beautiful pearl necklace I had ever seen and on her ears were matching pearl earrings. Her green eyes sparkled when she smiled at me.
    "Well," Daddy said, coming up beside her. "How foolish do I look?"
    "Oh Daddy!" I cried. In his black tux and tie with his dark hair neatly brushed and his deep tan, he looked more handsome than anyone I had ever seen. "You look like . . . like a movie star," I said, blushing as I recalled the way Mommy had described my real father. Aunt Trisha laughed.
    "I don't feel like a movie star; I feel like a store front mannequin," he replied, pretending to be in pain.
    "You're nothing of the kind," Mommy said, coming up behind them. She wore a luminous gown of white satin that was very low-cut and was held up at her shoulders by spaghetti straps. The bodice of her dress fit snugly; then at her waist the skirt flared out like a fairy princess's all the way to her ankles. With her diamond and ruby necklace and her diamond earrings, she looked like royalty.
    "Mommy, you look beautiful!" I exclaimed.
    "I have reason to be," she replied. The three of them gazed in at me. "Isn't she gorgeous, Trisha?"
    "Absolutely. Agnes Morris