"Oh, Momma," she cried, kissing and hugging me repeatedly, "it's so good to see you again!" Her lavishings of affection left me quite breathless as I eagerly responded. All the while, even as we embraced, she managed to stare around at the grand rooms with all their elegant furnishings. Holding to my hand, she pulled me from one room to another, gasping and exclaiming at the beauty of everything so fine and rich.
"Where's Dad?" she asked. I explained that Chris had driven into Charlottesville to turn in his rented car for a more luxurious model.
"Darling, he hoped to be back before you reached here. Something must have slowed him down. Be patient, and in a second or two he'll stroll in the door and welcome you."
Satisfied, she again exclaimed, "Momma, wow! What a house! You didn't tell me it would be like this. You made me think the new Foxworth Hall would be just as ugly and scary as the first."
To me, Foxworth Hall would always be ugly and scary, yet it was thrilling to watch Cindy's excitement flow over. She was taller than I, her young breasts ripe and full, her waist very slender so it emphasized the gentle swell of her beautifully formed hips with the flat belly, while her buttocks filled out the back of her jeans delightfully. Looking at her figure sideways, I had to compare her to a burgeoning flower, so tender, so frail appearing, and yet she had exceptional endurance.
Her full and heavy long golden hair was casually styled. It blew wild in the wind as we went out to watch Jory and Bart fighting it out on the new tennis courts. "Oh, gosh, Momma, you do have two beautiful sons," she whispered as she stared at their bronzed, strong bodies. "I never thought Bart would grow up to be just as handsome as Jory, not when he was such an ugly little brute."
Amazed, I stared at her. Bart had been too thin, always with scabs and scars on his legs, and his dark hair had never been tidy, but he'd been a good-looking little boy, certainly not ugly looking--only ugly acting. And once upon a time, Cindy had worshipped Bart. A knife twisted in my heart as I realized so much of what Bart had said last night was true. I had put Cindy ahead of him. I had thought she was perfect and incapable of doing wrong, and still did.
"Do try to be kind and, thoughtful to Bart," I whispered, seeing Joel coming our way.
"Who's that funny-looking old man?" asked Cindy, turning to stare at Joel as he bent stiffly to pull up a few weeds. "Don't tell me Bart has hired somebody like him for a gardener--why, he can hardly straighten up once he's crooked."
Before I could answer, Joel was upon us, smiling as broadly as his false teeth would allow. "Why, you must be Cindy, the one Bart talks about all the time," he said with some faint leftover charm, taking Cindy's reluctantly offered hand and putting it to his thin, crooked lips.
I could tell she wanted to yank her hand away, yet she tolerated the touch of his lips. The sun through Joel's almost white hair still streaked with Foxworth gold made it seem terribly thin. Suddenly I realized I hadn't told Cindy about Joel and hastened to introduce them. She seemed fascinated once she knew who he was. "You really mean you knew that hateful old Grandfather Malcolm? You are really his son? Why, you must be really ancient . . ."
"Cindy, that's not tactful . . ."
"I'm sorry, Uncle Joel. It's just when I hear my mom and dad talk of their youth, it seems a million years ago." She laughed charmingly, smiling apologetically at Joel. "You know something, you look a lot like my dad in some ways. When he's really old, no doubt he'll grow to look like you."
Joel turned his eyes toward Chris, who'd just driven up and was even now stepping out of a beautiful new blue Cadillac with his arms full of packages. He'd picked up gifts I'd had engraved for Bart's birthday. For his birthday, I'd gone all out and given him only the best, as he would expect: an attache case of the finest leather, with combination locks, for Chris to give him. Eighteen-karat gold cufflinks with his initials in diamonds and a matching gold cigarette case, also monogrammed in
diamonds--the gem Bart respected most, from me. His father had carried such a cigarette case, given to him by my mother.
Dropping the packages onto a lawn chair, Chris held his arms open. Cindy hurled herself into his welcoming embrace. She covered his face with a rain of small kisses, leaving her lip marks all over his face. Staring up into his face, she pleaded. "This is going to be the best summer of my life. Daddy, can't we stay here until school starts in the fall, so I can know what it's like to live in a real mansion, with all those beautiful rooms and fancy bathrooms? I already know which one I want, the one with all those pink and white and gold girlish things. He knows I just adore pink, really love pink, and already I adore and love this house! Just love it, love it!"
A shadow flickered through Chris's eyes as he released her and turned to look at me. "We'll have to talk that over, Cindy. As you know, your mother and I are here just to help Bart celebrate his twenty-fifth birthday."
I looked over toward where Bart smashed the tennis ball with such force it's a wonder it didn't burst. Running like a streak of white light, Jory slammed the yellow ball back to Bart, who ran just as fast to swoop and cleverly whack it back with just as much force. Both were hot and sweaty, their faces reddening from the exercise and the hot sun. "Jory, Bart," I called, "Cindy's here. Come to say hello."
Instantly Jory turned his head to smile, causing him to miss the next yellow ball that came hurtling his way. He failed to return it, and Bart whooped for joy. He jumped up and down, hurled down his expensive racket, shouting, "I win!"
"You win by default," said Jory, throwing down his racket as well. He ran our way, his face all smiles. He threw back at Bart, "Default winning doesn't count."
"It does so count!" bellowed Bart. "What the hell do we care whether or not Cindy's here? You just used that to quit before my score topped yours."
"Have it your way," answered Jory. In a moment he was swinging Cindy off her feet, whirling her around and around, making her blue skirt fly and reveal skimpy bikini panties. It amused me to see that Cindy still dressed from the skin out in one color.
Melodie rose from a marble garden seat where she'd been watching the tennis game, until now half hidden by high shrubbery. I saw her lips tighten as she observed Cindy's too affectionate greeting.
"Like mother like daughter," mumbled Bart from 'behind me.
Cindy approached Bart warily, with so much decorum she didn't seem like the same girl who had kissed Jory. "Hello, brother Bart. You're looking very fit."
Bart stared at her as if he'd never seen her before. It had been two years, and at fourteen, Cindy had still worn her hair in pigtails, or ponytails, and she had braces on her teeth. Now her gleaming white teeth were perfectly spaced. Her hair was a loose-flowing mass of molten gold. There wasn't a girl in the skin magazines that had a better figure or more perfect complexion, and only too unhappily I realized that Cindy knew she looked sensational in her tight blue and white tennis dress.
Bart's dark eyes lingered on her ripe, unfettered breasts that jiggled when she walked, their peaks jutting out clearly. His eyes measure
d her hand-span waist before he stared at her pelvic area; then he lowered his eyes to take in very pretty long legs that ended in white sandals. Her toenails were painted bright red to match her fingernails and lipstick.
She was breathtakingly lovely in a sweet, fresh and innocent way that strove unsuccessfully to appear sophisticated. I didn't believe for a moment that that long, intense look she gave Bart meant what apparently he took it to mean.
"You're not my type," he said scornfully; turning away. When he did, he stared long and meaningfully at Melodie. Then again he turned to Cindy. "You have a certain cheap quality, despite all your expensive clothes--you don't possess nobility."