The Price of Love and Other Stories

Birthday Dance

My very first memory is of Mother putting makeup on me when I was a little girl. The greasy red lipstick tasted like candle wax, and when I cried the mascara ran down my cheeks like black teardrops. I had lost two of my front baby teeth, and Mother got the dentist to fit some false ones for me. They felt like cold pebbles in my mouth, and I couldn’t stop probing them with my tongue. Later, Mother held my hand and we stood on a glittering stage in a huge ballroom with crystal chandeliers spinning in the light and rows and rows of people watching. I was wearing my powder blue satin dress and matching bows in my hair. I was nervous, but I knew it was an important night for Mother. She told me pageants and talent contests would give me poise and confidence and help me to make friends, and soon I began to feel excited about them. I smiled and danced and sang, and people clapped for me. I felt warm all over.

Perhaps the terrible thing that happened on Father’s birthday happened because I was always a well-behaved little girl. I did what Mother told me to do. Father, too, of course — well, he’s my stepfather, really — but I see less of him, so it’s not often that he tells me to do anything. He’s an important businessman with an empire to rule, so Mother says, and I am under strict instructions not to bother him unless he asks to see me. Not that he doesn’t love me. I know for a fact that he does. He asks to see me every day and tells me I am the apple of his eye. Sometimes he gives me expensive presents, or if he’s really pleased with me, he tells me I can have anything I want in the world. Anything.

Father protects me, too. Mother told me once, after one of my friends started crying at a pageant and no one would tell me why, that I was to report to her immediately if anyone ever bothered me or touched me, and Father would have them taken care of. Those were her words: “Have them taken care of.” I didn’t know what she meant, but I thought it must be something to do with doctors and nurses and hospitals. Nobody ever did bother me, though. I suppose they must have known they would have to go to the hospital if they did. Father can be frightening, I know because I’ve heard him shouting at people, but he’s always very gentle and silly when I’m with him, laughing and tickling me and playing games.

We live in a huge mansion surrounded by woods and trimmed green lawns as big as playing fields. We have two swimming pools, one indoors and one outside, garages for the cars, and stables where I keep my pony Arabella. I love it when the wind is blowing through my hair and Arabella is galloping over the fields. There is one point where you get to the top of a short hill and you can see the sea in the distance all blue and green and white. Sometimes we stop there and rest, and I watch the waves roll in and out. Times like that I feel happiest, riding Arabella or swimming in one of the pools. They are the only times when I can do what I really want.

Of course, I have to go to school like everyone else, though it is a very good school. Bennett drives me there and back again every day in the Rolls. I like drawing and music most, but my teacher says I’m really good at writing, and I do like to write. I also love to read. My favorite book of all time is Alice in Wonderland, but I like A Woman of Substance, too.

Even when I’m not in at school, it seems that I am forever going to dancing classes, singing lessons, piano lessons, acting classes and all kinds of other lessons and classes, like flower arranging and tennis. And then there are the auditions. I hate auditions. That’s when you have to sing and dance, sometimes in a small room with only one person watching you. It’s no fun, not like pageants. You don’t get to be with your friends and nobody claps. They just put on a face so you can’t see what they’re thinking and then they phone Mother later to say whether they want you or not. I’ve done some television commercials, and I even had my photo on an advert for lotion in a woman’s magazine once, when I was seven. I haven’t been in any movies or plays or TV shows yet, but I know that’s what Mother really wants me to do.

You see, Mother is very beautiful, and she used to be a model, but she told me once that she regretted she never quite managed to get the successful stage career she wanted. I think she wants me to do that for her. I tell her she’s still beautiful and there’s still lots of time for her to be a big film star, but she just says I’m sweet and I don’t really understand. I don’t suppose I do. There are so many things I don’t understand.

Take Uncle John, for example.

I think the trouble all started because of Uncle John.

He wasn’t really my uncle, he was a business colleague of Father’s, but we called him uncle anyway. That was before we started seeing less and less of him because he was getting really strange. Not in a nasty way, of course, or we wouldn’t have had anything to do with him at all. Mother wouldn’t have him in the house, like she won’t have Ruth’s father. Uncle John just has some silly ideas about a big change coming that’s going to affect us all, and he’s not always happy about the way Father conducts his business, or about him marrying Mother. Father says he ought to keep his mouth shut, but Uncle John can’t seem to help himself, and we all get embarrassed when that distant look comes into his eyes and he starts his rambling. And Mother leaves the room.

I suppose we’re not exactly the most normal family in the world. Most of my friends come from normal families, but not us. Mother was married to my real father for many years, and I am their only child. Then, though my father was still alive and she wasn’t a widow or anything, like Carly’s mother, she went to live with Father. I never see my real father anymore, and sometimes that makes me feel sad. I think about him and the way he used to sit me on his knee and wipe away the tears when I was unhappy, and that makes me unhappy all over again.

But to get back to Uncle John. Things had been uncomfortable for a long time. I had heard him arguing with Father, though I never really understood what they were talking about. Mother tried to be nice to him at first after his fights with Father, even sometimes reaching out to stroke him the way she does Tabby, our cat, but he always flinched from her and treated her even worse than he treated Father. I’d like to say that he was always nice to me, but most of the time he just ignored me. I didn’t really care because, to tell the truth, I was a little bit frightened of him, especially when he got that faraway look in his eyes and began talking about things I couldn’t understand. I don’t think anyone else understood, either, because I’d even overheard people saying they thought he was mad. Father always defended him and said that he had his uses, but sometimes you could see it was really an effort, especially when Uncle John called his business immoral and told him it was all going wrong because he had married Mother and that judgment day would soon come for us all.

I suppose, in a way, it did, but not exactly the way Uncle John imagined it.

The day it happened was a Saturday, Father’s birthday, and I saw Uncle John with Mother talking by the outside pool that morning when they didn’t know I was watching them. There was nobody else at home except Bennett, who was up in his flat over the garage, and Mother had just been swimming. She was still wet, the water dripping from her hair and legs, relaxing with a martini and a Danielle Steel in one of the loungers beside the pool, still wearing her pretty, flowered bikini. Uncle John was in a dark suit and a tie, though it was a hot day. His face was tanned dark brown and oily with sweat, and he had curly black hairs on the backs of his hands.

I couldn’t hear very much because they were far away and the window was closed, but he was shouting at her, and I heard him say the words whore and bitch and adulteress before he finally turned and left. I remember the words because I didn’t know what they meant and had to look them up in the dictionary. I didn’t understand what the definitions in the dictionary meant, either, so that didn’t do me any good. I wanted to ask Mother, but I thought that if I did, she would know I had been eavesdropping on her and Uncle John, and she would be angry. Father is not the sort of person you can ask things like that. He’s far too busy to be disturbed with such trivia.

Anyway, after Uncle John left, Mother was upset and didn’t seem able to relax with her martini and her Danielle Steel. She put the book down — some of the pages were wet from her hands — finished the drink quickly, then came into the house. The next time I saw her, maybe two hours later, she was dry and dressed in the kitchen, preparing some canapés at the island. It was Father’s birthday — an important one, Mother said, with a “0” in it — and that evening there was going to be a special birthday party with all his family and friends and tons of food and presents. Most of the food was being catered, of course, but Mother always like to make “a little something special” for us all.

“Sal,” she said. “I wondered where you’d got to. Is everything all right?”

“Yes, Mother,” I answered. I could tell by the way she was looking at me that she was trying to figure out if I’d seen her and Uncle John arguing earlier. I tried to give nothing away.

“You’d better get ready,” she said. “It’s nearly time for your ballet lesson.”

“I’m ready,” I told her. And I was. I had my tutu and my ballet shoes packed in my backpack.

“Bennett will drive you,” she said.

“Where’s Father?” I asked.

“Your father’s playing golf,” she said. “He went with Uncle Tony.”

“OK.” I knew that Uncle Tony sometimes came by and picked Father up. He had a brand-new Mercedes-Benz and he liked to show it off. Uncle Tony’s all right, though. He always gives me chocolates or comics when he visits.

Mother paused and wiped her hands on a towel. “Sal,” she said, “you know what tonight is?”

“Father’s birthday. Of course. I’m going to get him a present after ballet. A box of his favorite cigars.”

“That’s nice, sweetheart. But, you know, I was just thinking how nice it would be if you did something special for him, too.”

“Like what?”

“Dance for him. You know how much he loves to see you dance.”

It was true. Father did love to see me dance, and he would always offer me any present I wanted in the whole world when I danced especially well for him. “What sort of dance?” I asked.

“Oh, I don’t know. Maybe something new, something he hasn’t seen before. How are you doing in those belly-dancing classes?”

“Not bad,” I said. “It’s fun. I don’t have much of a belly, though.”

Mother smiled. We both knew that I was a bit on the skinny side, but she always told me it was a fine balance, and the last thing a pageant judge wanted to see was folds of puppy fat. Maybe with belly dancing, though, it’s different. I just don’t feel I have anything to roll around, if you know what I mean. No belly to dance with.

“Well, what about some ballet?” she said. “What are you learning at the moment?”

I told Mother about Swan Lake, which is my all-time favorite ballet, even though we were just doing boring exercises in class.

“Maybe you can dance something from Swan Lake, then?” Mother said. “If you’d like. I’m sure your Father will just love it.”

“Okay,” I said. “I’ll do something from Swan Lake. I have to go now.”

She pointed to her cheek, and I walked over and kissed her, then I went outside and found Bennett in front of the garage, waiting, already in his uniform, the engine of the Rolls purring.

Ballet class was boring, as I expected, just doing the same movements over and over again. I have to admit that I spent most of the time daydreaming of the coming evening’s performance from Swan Lake. It would have to be a short and fairly easy piece, I knew — nothing complicated like the dying swan — because I’m not that good, but I also knew I could do such a fragment justice. I pictured myself dancing really well, hearing the music, imagining Father’s pleasure. Sometimes when I do this, it helps me when the time comes for the real thing.

I could hardly wait to get home, but I hung around for a soda with Veronica and Lisa for half an hour, as usual, then I remembered the present and got Bennett to go into Father’s favorite cigar shop and buy a box of Coronas and have them wrapped. All the way home I was almost jumping up and down in the seat with excitement.

Even though it was still only late afternoon, the house was starting to fill up. I knew most of the people and said hello as I went up to my room to change. There were marquees on the grounds and people already swimming in the pool. There must have been a hundred barbecues grilling hamburgers, steaks, chicken and hot dogs. It was going to be a great party.

When I had put on my party dress and was heading out to get something to eat at one of the barbecue stands, Mother pulled me into her room and asked me about ballet class. I told her it was fine.

“I suppose you’re excited about tonight?” she said.

“Yes.”

She turned her eyes away from me. “Look, Sal,” she said, “do you think you could do your mother a favor? A big favor?”

“Of course!” I said, anxious to please her after I’d seen her upset with Uncle John that morning.

“You know when you dance well and your father promises you anything you want?”

“Yes.”

“Well, when that happens, will you ask him for Uncle John’s head?”

“Uncle John’s head?”

“Yes.”

“Yuk.”

“For me.”

“Is it a game? Like in Alice? ‘Off with his head!’”

“Yes, that’s right,” said Mother. “A game. Like the Red Queen. Will you ask him?”

“Uncle John’s head! Uncle John’s head! Yes, I’ll ask him. I can’t wait to hear what he says.”

“He probably won’t say very much,” said Mother very quietly, “but he’s a man of his word, your father.”

And with that she let me skip down the stairs to join the party. My cousins Janet and Maria were both there, and their creepy brother Marlon, so we found some earwigs in the garden and put them in his hot dog. That was fun, but all the time I was excited about dancing. I looked around for Uncle John, but I couldn’t see him anywhere. When the time came, I went upstairs and changed quickly while Father gathered with his closest family and business colleagues in his den. Uncle John wasn’t with them, but Godfather was there, an old man with dry, wrinkled skin and a voice like a rasp file on stone. He made me a bit nervous, but he had a kind smile.

And how well did I dance?

It’s hard for me to judge my own performance, but I did feel that my movements seemed to go with the music. There was no hesitation, the dance flowed from me, and there were no wrong moves or trips. I didn’t stumble or fall once. On the whole, I think I danced rather well, if I say so myself. Father certainly enjoyed it, for he started clapping the moment I finished, and it took the others a couple of seconds to join in with him. Mother sat on the other side of the room with the womenfolk, smiling and clapping along. When I’d finished, I curtsied for Father and he beckoned me to come closer. I stood in front of him and he gave me a little kiss on my cheek.

“Bravo!” he said. “That was marvelous. What a talented girl you are. And because you’ve made me so happy you can have anything you want in the world. All you have to do is ask.”

I paused for a moment and looked over at Mother. Father saw me do this, and he also looked her way. She didn’t turn to face him or say anything, but I could tell by her eyes that she was telling me to go ahead and ask him. Then I said, “I want Uncle John’s head.”

Father’s face changed, and he suddenly seemed older and sadder. Everyone else was completely silent. You could hear a pin drop.

“Are you sure that’s what you want, sweetheart?” he asked.

I nodded. “Yes,” I said. “Off with his head!”

Father looked at me in silence for a long time before answering, then he looked over at Mother, who kept her eyes on me. Finally, he looked at Godfather, who gave him such a brief, tiny nod it could have been a twitch.

“Very well,” Father said sternly. “You shall have what you want.” Then he clapped his hands. “Now away with you, before I change my mind.”

But I knew Father never changed his mind, and Mother said he was a man of his word.

The party was still going on, so I changed into jeans and a T-shirt and rejoined my cousins and friends, who were now playing hide-and-seek in the shrubbery. There were lots of bushes shaped like animals, and sometimes you could even work your way inside them and find a clear space to hide. As I hid in the peacock, holding my breath for fear that Janet would find me first, I thought about the dance and the strange request Mother had asked me to make.

I know that Father still liked Uncle John, despite the problems he was causing, but Uncle John was getting more difficult to keep in line. I had actually heard Father saying this to some of his colleagues not long ago, the same time I overheard him telling Bruno, who I don’t like at all — he’s got no neck and has shoulders like a bull — to “clip” someone, which sounds like something they do at the hairdresser’s, and to “take care of” Mr. Delasanto. I never saw Mr. Delasanto again, and I guessed he must have been taken to the hospital. But they didn’t want to clip or take care of Uncle John, and now I had asked for his head. I began to feel just a little uneasy and nervous about what would happen. They had all seemed very serious about it, for a game. At that moment, Janet peered through the branches, shouted my name and ran back to the tree where she had counted to a hundred. By the time I got through the branches I hadn’t a hope of beating her.

The party wound down later in the evening — at least for me it did. Janet and Maria went home, taking with them the horrible Marlon, who hadn’t said much since he bit into his hot dog earlier in the day. I was still too excited to go to bed and there were plenty of adults around. Nobody paid any attention to me. The pool lights were on and some people were even swimming, others sipping drinks and talking at the poolside. There was music coming out of a pair of big speakers outside the pool house, but it was grown-up music, all violins and smoochy singing. Frank Sinatra, probably. Father loves Frank Sinatra.

I was feeling hot and I thought a swim might be nice, so I went to my room to change into my bathing costume. On my way I passed Mother’s room and heard raised voices. I paused by the door, unsure what to do. I had been brought up not to spy on people or listen in on their conversations — Father was very particular about his privacy — but sometimes I just couldn’t help it.

“It was your idea,” Father was saying. “You put her up to it. How could you?”

Mother said nothing.

“It’ll have a bad effect all around. There’ll be trouble,” Father went on. “He still has his uses. And he’s got a lot of followers.”

“Rubbish,” said Mother. “He’s a madman and everyone knows it. An embarrassment. He’s losing it, baby. You’ll be doing us all a favor. Next thing you know he’ll be talking to the feds.”

“That’s crazy. Johnny would never do that.”

“You haven’t been paying attention, sweetie. You’re blinded by loyalty. I had to do something to bring it to your attention. God knows, you wouldn’t listen to me. I tell you, if you don’t do something soon, we’re all down the creek without a paddle.”

At that moment, I heard one of them walking toward the door, so I made off quickly and hurried to my room. It was odd, finding Mother and Father together like that, I thought, because they don’t talk much anymore. I haven’t seen them laugh and hold hands for ages. Still, I don’t suppose they have much time together: Father has his empire to keep him busy, and Mother has me and all my contests and lessons and pageants.

Nobody seemed to mind me swimming with the grown-ups, and I even had a cool splashing fight with Uncle Mario, who’s so fat it’s a wonder all the water doesn’t go out of the pool when he jumps in. After that I ate more food — cakes and ice cream and Jell-O — until I was too full to eat another bite. I was feeling tired by then, and even some of the grown-up guests were starting to say their good-byes and drift away.

When most of them had gone, Bennett came along the driveway in the Rolls and parked in front of the garage. One of Father’s colleagues got out, a man I didn’t like, and leaned back in to pick something off the seat. It was a large metal plate with a domed cover, the kind they use to keep food warm, but bigger. He saw me just about to go back inside, walked over and said. “I think this is for you, little lady.” I hate it when people call me little lady. After all, I am eleven. Then he offered me the plate. It was heavier than I expected.

“Or maybe you should take it to your mother,” he said, with a nasty grin.

I turned away and heard him laugh as I walked into the house. I was going to take his advice but I didn’t want him to know that. Outside Mother’s room, I put the plate on a small polished table under the hall mirror and knocked. Mother answered. She was quite alone.

“Someone brought me this plate,” I said. “But I think it’s for you.”

She looked at the covered plate, then at me. I couldn’t tell what she was thinking from her expression, but she seemed a bit glazed and didn’t really look very well. I thought perhaps she might have had one of her “attacks” and taken her pills. Anyway, she seemed eager enough to take the plate. Without so much as a thank you, she picked it up, turned and kicked the door shut with her heel. By then I was beginning to realize that it wasn’t just a game, that when I asked Father for Uncle John’s head, that was exactly what he had given me. I had to know. Trembling, I sank to my knees and looked through the keyhole.

What I saw then I will remember for the rest of my days.

Mother set the plate down on her dressing table beside the potions and creams and combs and brushes, then she lifted off the cover. She stepped back and gasped, putting her hand to her mouth and let the cover drop to the floor where it clanged on the hard wooden surface. Then, slowly, she moved toward the plate from which Uncle John stared at her with unseeing eyes. She stared back for the longest time, then she picked up the head in both hands and kissed him on the lips. Something dark and shiny dangled from his neck and dripped like black teardrops down the front of Mother’s white blouse. I jumped up feeling sick and dizzy and I ran up to my room, pulled the covers over my head and didn’t come out until my singing lesson on Sunday morning.