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Whenever I tried to meet eyes with Chris he had his turned another way or lowered to stare at the floor. Carrie crowded close beside Paul, who sat some distance away from the boisterous revelry and tried not to look stern. As soon as I had all the presents opened Paul got up, picked Carrie up in his arms, and both disappeared up the stairs.

"Good night, Cathy," called Carrie, her small face happy and flushed with sleepiness, "this is the best birthday party I've ever been to."

I could have cried from the pain of that, for she was almost nine years old and the birthday parties she could remember, except Chris's last November, had been pitiful attempts to make much out of little.

"Why are you looking sad?" asked Julian who came up and swung me into his embrace. "Rejoice-- for now you have me at your feet, ready to set your heart on fire along with your body."

Truly I hated him when he acted like that. He tried to demonstrate in every way possible that I belonged to him and him alone. His gift had been a leather tote to carry my ballet leotards, shoes, etc. I danced away from him, not wanting to be claimed tonight. All the girls who weren't already infatuated with Julian immediately fell for Chris, and this in no way enhanced Julian's liking for my brother. I don't know what happened to put the match to the grass but suddenly Chris and Julian were in a corner arguing and about to exchange blows. "I don't give a damn what you think!" stormed Chris in his eye-of-thehurricane calm way. "My sister is too young for a lover and not ready for New York!"

"You! You --" fired Julian back. "What do you know about the dance? You know nothing! You can't even manage to move your feet without stepping on yourself!"

"That may be true," said Chris in an icy voice, "but I have other skills. And we're talking about my sister and the fact that she is still underaged. I won't have you persuading her to accompany you to New York when she hasn't even finished high school yet!"

My head swiveled from one to the other and between the two it was hard to say which was the better looking. I felt sick that they would show everyone their hostility, and sick because I wanted so much for them to like each other. I trembled on the brink of crying out, stop, don't do this! But I said nothing.

"Cathy," called Chris, not moving his eyes for one second from Julian who appeared ready to throw a blow or deliver a kick, "do you honestly believe you are ready to make your debut in New York?"

"No . . ." I said in a near whisper. Julian's eyes raged my way, for he was at me, demanding of me every second we were together, wanting me to accompany him to New York and be his mistress and dance partner. I knew why he wanted me--my weight, my height, my balance suited his abilities perfectly. It was of utmost importance to find the perfect partner when you wanted to impress in a pas de deux.

"May all your birthdays be hell on earth!" Julian said as he headed for the front door, and he slammed it hard behind him. That's how my party ended, with everyone going home looking embarrassed. Chris stalked up to his room without wishing me good night. With tears in my eyes I began to pick up the trash from the living room carpet. I found a hole burned in the plushy green from a carelessly held cigarette. Someone had broken one of Paul's prized pieces of hand-blown glass--a transparent rose of shimmering crystal. I held it, thinking about buying glue that would put it back together again, even as I planned a way, for there had to be a way, to cover up the holes in the carpet and take the white rings from the tables.

"Don't worry about the rose," Paul's voice came from behind me, "it's just a cheap knickknack. I can always buy another."

I turned to look at him He was standing so casually in the archway of the foyer, meeting my teary look with his soft, kind eyes. "It was a beautiful rose," I choked, "and I know it was expensive. I'll buy you another if I can find a duplicate, and if I can't I'll buy you something better when I can. . . ."

"Forget it."

"Thank you again for the beautiful music box." Nervously my hands fluttered to my daring

decolletage and sought to hide the cleavage. "My father gave me a silver music box with a ballerina inside once but I had to leave it. . . ." My voice trailed off and I could speak no more, for thoughts of my father always left me in childish ruins of bleakness without hope.

"Chris told me about the music box your father gave you and I tried to find one just like it. Did I succeed?"

"Yes," I said, though it wasn't the same.

"Good. Now go to bed. Forget the mess--

Henny will clean up. You look sleepy."

I was soon up the stairs and into my room, where to my surprise Chris was waiting for me.

"What is going on between you and Julian?" he shot out fiercely.

"Nothing is going on!"

"Don't lie to me, Cathy! He doesn't fly down here so often for nothing!"

"Mind your own damned business,

Christopher!" I said viciously. "I don't try to tell you what to do and I demand the same from you! You are not a saint and I am not an angel! The trouble is you're just another man who thinks you can do anything you want while I have to sit prim and prissy on the sidelines and wait for someone to come along and marry me! Well, I'm not that kind of woman! Nobody is going to push me around and make me do what I don't want to--never again! Not Paul! Not Madame! Not Julian--and not you either!" His face paled as he listened and restrained himself from interrupting. "I want you to stay out of my life, Christopher. I'll do what I have to, anything I have to, to get to the top!"

He glared at me with his heavenly blue eyes shooting devilish electric sparks. "I take it you'll sleep with just any man if that's necessary."

"I do what I have to!" I raged back, though I hadn't given that any thought.

He seemed on the verge of slapping me, and the control it took to keep his hands at his sides made him clench them into fists. A white line etched about his tightened lips. "Cathy," he began in a hurt voice, "what's come over you? I didn't think you'd ever become another opportunist."

Bitterly I met his eyes. What did he think he was doing? We'd stumbled fortunately upon an unhappy, lonely man and we were using him, and sooner or later there'd be a price to pay. Our grandmother had always told us nobody did anything for nothing. But somehow I couldn't hurt him more, and I couldn't speak a word against Paul who'd taken us in and was doing everything he could. Truthfully, I had reason enough for knowing he didn't expect any reward.


Tags: V.C. Andrews Dollanganger Horror