Crazy Like a Fox

CHAPTER 7

“What’s going on over there?” Young Taz called from the boys’ large play lot.

Tootie’s house sat away from the kennels at a forty-five-degree angle, perhaps a quarter of a mile. Hounds could hear and smell everything. An unrecognizable car alerted everyone. They heard Tootie’s voice, saw the limbs of the huge old walnut tree by the ruins of what had been the original cabin sway in a gentle breeze.

Gentle or not, it carried coolness as the twilight faded; night air brushed everyone.

Surprised, shocked really, Tootie opened the door wide. “Mother, come in. Do you need me to carry anything?”

“Later.” The elegant, if drawn, Yvonne stepped into the pleasing cabin, a white clapboard addition looking old attached to the original cabin.

The job, well done, disguised the newness of everything. The stone chimney poked out of the slate roof. Another stone chimney was visible in the roof of the addition.

Striding as though still on the runway at the height of her modeling career, Tootie’s mother walked into the big main room. Old cabins lacked either center halls or entrance halls. One walked right into the living space. The kitchens were usually at the rear of the big room. A summer kitchen was outside at a distance of twenty-five yards. All old colonial buildings in the South had summer kitchens. No one could stand the heat of cooking in June, July, August. Maybe they could in New Hampshire, but they certainly couldn’t in Virginia. Those states farther south often used the outside kitchens for six months.

Tootie, recovering her wits, offered her mother a seat in an old comfortable wing chair.

Yvonne lowered herself onto it, crossing her impossibly long legs, legs she bequeathed to her daughter, which had made riding easier, at least when mastering the basics.

“Can I get you anything to drink? I have fresh eggs, but that’s about it if you’re hungry.”

“I ate on the way.” Yvonne looked up, swept her hand at the opposite old wing chair and Tootie dropped into it. “I didn’t have time to call.” She cast her eyes around the lovely little cabin. “Very nice.”

“Sister and I rooted through old plans, visited original cabins. This is built on the site of the first dwelling this far west.”

“Yes, you told me. Actually you showed me the ruins once when your father and I came to parents’ weekend at Custis Hall. You and the girls were hunting. We met everyone, got a stable and kennel tour. You even showed us Hangman’s Ridge.”

“Would you like me to start a fire?”

“Not yet. It’s still warmish. What kind of heat do you have?”

“I use the fireplace mostly. There’s a heat pump. I keep the thermostat at sixty degrees. It saves money.”

Yvonne’s eyebrows zoomed up. “You don’t pay the electricity here.”

“No. I just don’t like to run up bills if I can help it.”

Yvonne studied her only child. How different she was from both her mother and father, neither of whom evidenced the least amount of restraint when it came to funds.

“Surely Sister can pay.”

Tootie nodded. “She fusses at me, but I like to save.”

“M-m-m. Aren’t you wondering why I’m here, and here unannounced?”

“I know you’ll tell me.” Tootie allowed herself a sly smile not unnoticed by her mother.

“I am divorcing your father. Could not stand one more minute with his lying.” She stopped herself. “I grabbed some of my clothes, all the credit cards, all my jewelry. Drove to the airport. Left the car forever, for all I care, got a ticket to Richmond, and here I am.”

“He’ll explode,” Tootie replied, voice even.

“Good. Maybe he’ll die of a heart attack and there will be no need of divorce proceedings.” Yvonne took a deep breath. “You don’t have to say yes, but I’d like to stay with you, for a week at most. I’m going to look for a place to rent here. I’ll be close to you, far away from him, and maybe I will learn to like some of these people you tell me about.”

“You can stay here, of course. I work most of the day.”

“Fine.”

A long pause followed this. “Please be civil to Sister and Gray.”

A flash of irritation crossed those perfect features, which then softened. “They were more your father’s problem than mine. That and the fact that he couldn’t understand why you wanted to work with animals.”

“You never seemed too enthusiastic about it.” Tootie said this without rancor—but she said it.

Yvonne shifted in her seat. “I can’t say that I understand it. I don’t. What upset me was when you left Princeton to come back here. You could have come home.”

“This is home.” Tootie’s voice rose.

A very long pause followed this.

“I can’t apologize for your father. I can’t even apologize for myself. We haven’t had the usual mother-daughter relationship. I was always off somewhere or hosting some enormous fundraiser. But when I was home, I tried.”

“What you did was give me a nurse, then a governess, then a dogsbody,”—she couldn’t think of a better word—“all of whom spoke French!”

“Well, French is a passport to fashion, to elegance. Learning it from infancy is a huge advantage.”

“I speak to hounds and horses.” Tootie folded her hands together. “They don’t care. You wanted me to want what you wanted. I don’t.”

“Fair enough.”

This surprised Tootie.

Yvonne continued. “I was not warm and fuzzy. But I am your mother and I will make up for it.”

“You want an ally against Dad.”

“No, I don’t. I hired Hart, Hanckle and Himmel as my lawyers. They’ll take care of him. Plus when I was your age and married young, I didn’t just fall off the turnip truck. I had my name put on everything, even the media business. He was so overcome with lust he agreed to everything. And I will give myself credit, I worked in our company. I actually liked it.” She took a deep breath. “The bastard.”

“Hart, Hanckle and Himmel.” Tootie half laughed. “The hounds of hell.”

“Well—yes.” Yvonne laughed, too.

“Are you sure I can’t get you anything?”

“A cup of chamomile tea. I’m tired. It will help and I’ll just go fast asleep.”

Tootie rose, walked to the kitchen and heard the front door close. Her mother soon joined her carrying a Hunting World duffel, a bag known only to the cognoscenti. Everyone else bought Louis Vuitton. In the other hand, Yvonne carried a satchel.

“Let me show you your room. It’s not much, Mom, but it’s tidy and, well, you’ll manage. What’s in the satchel?”

“My jewelry. Every single piece. Here.” She handed it to Tootie.

“Mom, this weighs a ton.”

“Diamonds are a girl’s best friend.” Yvonne smiled.

The teapot whistled. Tootie left her mother at the room, a very clean room with a double bed, a comforter on it, and a nightstand with a light that swiveled so she could shoot the beam exactly where she wanted while reading.

As she poured the hot water into two large mugs, dropping in little silver balls filled with loose tea leaves, Yvonne returned and sat at the wooden table.

“Did you notice my car?”

“No.”

“A brand-new Lincoln Continental Reserve. Seventy-five thousand, three hundred and twenty dollars. All-wheel drive. I guess I need that here. I had the cab driver take me from the airport to the Ford dealer—I researched with my phone, found one who had the Reserve—smacked cash down on the table, and walked out. At least I’ll have decent wheels.”

“Mother, people would notice you if you drove a Vespa.”

“Very Audrey Hepburn.” Yvonne gratefully took the tea, removed the ball, sipped the soothing liquid.

Tootie sat across from her with her own cup of tea.

“Mom, I’ll be out of here at dawn, the kennels. We walk the hounds by seven but I have chores to do first. Shaker and I feed, wash down the feed room, all that stuff. Then we decide who we want to walk, off we go. Sister always walks with us.”

“She’s indestructible,” Yvonne remarked with rueful admiration. “Proof that you’ve got to keep moving. How old is she now?”

“Maybe seventy-two or seventy-three. I can never remember. I don’t think about it. I don’t even know how old you are.”

“Fifty-one.” Yvonne held the mug tighter. “Fifty-one trying to dump a cheating, lying husband, trying to figure out what I did wrong, trying to find a better life.”

“You made a great life, Mom.”

“For everyone else. I did what I was supposed to. Everyone kept telling me how beautiful I was, break barriers, be one of the first black high-fashion models. So I did. It was exciting, but Tootie, I never really gave any thought to direction, to what comes next. Then Vic scooped me up. He’d already made the magazine turn into pages of gold. Together we built a media empire. It really was not without excitement, but I have never asked myself the questions you have.” She blinked. “Well, I’m here. I know you think I’m a pain in the ass. I will try not to be, and I will try to find accommodations to get out of your way.”

“I might be able to help. Because of hunting, I know this place very well and there are beautiful places to rent, to buy. Maybe not so many to rent, but we’ll find them.”

Yvonne stared into Tootie’s light hazel eyes, so light they glowed almost amber green. Her eyes. She’d been a shitty mother. She’d been a shit to a lot of people. Haughty, demanding, ignoring anyone she didn’t think was on her level or could help her. Here across from her sat her daughter, in many ways a stranger, and the child seemed more settled, composed than she had ever been. Her eyes misted. She caught herself. Finished her tea.

“I don’t think I’ll walk hounds with you tomorrow. I need to get my ducks in a row. But I will do it next day. I’d like the exercise.”

“Okay.”

Yvonne got up, leaving her cup on the table, kissed her daughter on the cheek, and retired to her room. No sooner had she pulled off her clothes than she fell into bed, exhausted.

Tootie washed the two cups, then threw on her Carhartt jacket—the Detroit model, four years old and holding up to hard chores. She walked out to the farm road, turned right, walked past the kennels on her right, the stables on her left, to the big house, a herringbone brick path leading the way.

The light in the den shone out. She stepped inside the mudroom, knocked on the door to the kitchen, stuck her head in as she opened it.

“Sister? Gray? It’s Tootie.”

Sister’s voice carried down the long hall, “Come in, Sugar.”

Golly, on the table forbidden to her, of course, opened one eye. “Got any treats?”

Tootie ignored her.

“Selfish.” She closed her eye.

Tootie walked into the den, bookcases filled with books, a bar in one corner, and Sister’s beautiful desk tucked under the paned-glass window, original blown glass.

“What’s up?” Gray put down his Wall Street Journal.

“Mother’s here. She’s getting a divorce.”

“I see.” Sister told her to sit down. “We know. It was on the six o’clock news.”

“What?” Tootie’s eyes widened.

Gray folded the paper into quarters, placing it on his lap. “Celebrity report. Of course, the reporter cited your mother’s career, your father’s career, and a brief interview with your father who had obviously decided to strike the first blow.”

“He accused your mother of desertion,” Sister quietly said.

Tootie snorted. “Asshole. Well, it won’t do him any good, financially anyway. Mom’s name is on everything.”

“Your mother is an astute woman. It really will all work out, but it will be public and ugly for a while. The media wallows in scandal,” Sister remarked with some bitterness.

“Yes, it does.” Then Gray added, “But so did Procopius,” referring to the sixth-century A.D. writer.

Sister smiled. “You’re right. Bet we can go farther back than that. However, this isn’t helping Tootie. Can you handle your mother?”

“I think so. She wants to find a place to rent. She doesn’t want to go back to Chicago.”

“Smart.” Sister dropped her hand on Raleigh’s head as he nudged her knee. “This will put some pressure on you.”

“Well—maybe,” Tootie agreed.

“How about if I alert Betty Franklin? She’ll know the best real estate agent to help your mother.”

“Okay.” Tootie paused a moment. “She said she’d like to go on hound walks after tomorrow. I promise she won’t be a pain.”

“Even if she is, we’ll deal with it,” Sister reassuringly said.

After Tootie left, consoled, Gray slapped the paper on his knee. “What I’d like to do is slap that bitch in the face. Damn, she’s treated us like dirt.”

“Not as badly as he did,” Sister rejoined. “We’ll do what we can for Tootie, really.” She leaned down to kiss Raleigh. “Gray, there’s a sweet girl inside Yvonne. A girl sidetracked and abused because she was and still is so very beautiful. She trusts no one. Maybe Tootie a bit, and she hasn’t been much of a mother. Perhaps the carapace will crack, fall away, and Yvonne can truly be Yvonne.”

“Bullshit.” He shook his head.

Sister didn’t take offense. “Maybe only a woman can understand, honey.”