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There wasn't much time to sulk over anything anyway. The next day Trisha arrived. We were so glad to see each other, we both nearly burst with happiness. I knew exactly when she would arrive and waited at the front entrance. When the hotel car brought her up she flew out almost before it had come to a complete stop, and we hugged each other and cried and laughed, both of us talking at the same time.
Trisha's personality hadn't changed a bit. She was still her exuberant, effervescent self, her bright green eyes filled with excitement. Of course, she looked older and more elegant. Her dark brown hair was swept softly to one side and curled under her ear. She wore a pink and white cardigan sweater and a light pink shirt.
"You look so beautiful," I said.
"Thank you, and so do you. And this place!" She spun around, gazing excitedly at everything. She had arrived on one of our warmest early spring days. Flowers were blooming everywhere; the lawns had just been cut, and there was the wonderful scent of freshly trimmed grass. Just across the way the ocean was calm and glimmered like glass in the bright sunshine. "It's so beautiful here, and it's yours," she added, widening her eyes and squeezing my arm. "I want to see everything right away," she exclaimed. "Especially the chapel where you'll be married, and the ballroom and your wedding dress. Oh, I can't wait to see your wedding dress."
"The maid of honor is supposed to help plan my trousseau for the honeymoon," I told her. "My mother has given me specific instructions."
"I know." Trisha giggled, and grabbed my hand. "Come on, show me all of it."
It was like holding hands with a whirlwind. I no sooner brought her to one part of the hotel than she was crying for me to take her to another. She wanted to meet everyone we accosted and just had to know what each person's duties were. When I brought her to the kitchen, Nussbaum insisted she taste a new strudel he had concocted. Her eyes rolled, and she licked her lips with such emphasis, even he had to laugh.
Afterward I brought her up to my suite. On the way we stopped so she could meet Mother, who greeted her with such a haughty air that we looked at each other and swallowed our laughter. How she could put on that high-toned manner like a hat and then just as easily discard it. When we were-safely in the confines of my room Trisha and I burst into laughter.
"Oh, she's everything you described," Trisha said. "She reminded me of Agnes demonstrating how she played Queen Elizabeth in Mary, Queen of Scots."
I told her about Randolph and what to expect when she was introduced. She shook her head sadly.
Then I showed her my wedding dress, which she insisted I put on. Afterward we went through my wardrobe, planning my honeymoon trousseau as if each day were another act in a play. We giggled over the lingerie, especially the sheer nightgowns. While we chatted and plotted Trisha made me turn on the radio. I had been buried in my work and responsibilities so intently that I had lost track of what was popular.
For a while, laughing and renewing my friendship with Trisha made me feel young again. My baptism by fire in the hotel had aged me in ways I didn't appreciate or desire. I felt like the princess who was given a chance to be a real young girl before she had to be returned to the palace and behave as everyone expected royalty to behave. Trisha and I could moan and swoon over movie stars, thumb through fashion magazines and giggle and squeal over stories she related concerning boys we had both known at Sarah Bernhardt. Cautiously, we both skirted any reference to Michael Sutton, gingerly circling those days I spent with him and in his vocal class. We talked a blue streak until Sissy arrived with Christie.
"Oh, she's beautiful," Trisha said after I introduced them. Christie's eyes brightened instantly. I was afraid she had inherited some of Mother's vanity, as well as her father's. She behaved coyly for a few moments, pretending to be shy, but watching Trisha out of the corner of her eye, waiting to be coaxed along. Then, as usual, she turned her charm on, smiling and eagerly accepting Trisha's hugs and kisses.
"She's darling," Trisha whispered. "And she has Michael's beautiful eyes," she said.
"I know."
It was the only mention either of us made of him the entire wedding weekend.
Afterward, we all went down to look for Jimmy, who was supervising the grounds people and working on the pool equipment. He and Trisha had a nice reunion. When we left him, she whispered in my ear how handsome and mature Jimmy had become.
"You're so lucky," she said as we started back into the hotel, Christie holding both our hands. "You have all this—a beautiful hotel, a handsome man who loves you and a beautiful child. And don't forget, you're still very talented. You can still do something with singing. Don't you feel lucky now?" she prodded when I remained silent. "Don't you feel that all the hardship and unhappiness is behind you?"
"Sometimes," I said. I looked back at Jimmy, who waved. "And sometimes I feel like I've just moved into the eye of a storm. It's calm, beguiling, deceptive. For no reason I can think of, my heart begins to pound, and I feel dizzy, frightened. I wish I could freeze the moment like a camera snapping a photograph and lock us forever and ever in today."
Trisha stared at me a moment, her eyes fixed curiously on mine. Then her smile returned.
"That's just because you had such a hard life before. You can't believe your good luck. It's just natural," she insisted. "Is it? I hope so, Trish," I said. "I hope so."
She hugged me for reassurance, and we went in to complete the preparations for my big day.
The day before my wedding we rehearsed the ceremony. Philip returned from college that morning. He was in charge of looking after Randolph and being sure he was where he was supposed to be. Mother took command almost the moment the minister arrived. She choreographed everyone's movements: when this one would come in from there, who should hold whose hand and where and how we should all stand. Randolph fidgeted terribly the entire time and was relieved when he was finally excused and could go back to his "critical work. Mother sighed deeply to let everyone know how difficult things were for her with Randolph behaving this way. Naturally, his behavior upset her so much that she had to retreat to her bedroom to rest and prepare for the actual wedding.
I awoke very early the next morning, even before the sun had risen, but I lay in bed staring up at the ceiling. Because of the significance of the day, a mixture of some of the saddest and happiest moments of my life flashed before me. I couldn't help but recall Momma Longchamp brushing my hair when I was just a little girl and describing her dreams and hopes for me. She imagined I would grow up to be a beautiful woman and would eventually win the heart of a prince.
"You'll live in a beautiful place and have an army of servants just waitin' on your every beck and call," she said, and in the mirror I could see her tilt her head and gaze at me, her eyes twinkling with sugar.
And then I remembered her pale and sickly face, her eyes a dull silver like old dimes, and filled with trepidation the last time I had seen her alive in the hospital. I could still feel her hand clutching mine. I could still hear and see Jimmy sobbing. Daddy Longchamp's gray face rose out of the darkness behind my closed lids, all the pain of sorrow in his dark eyes.
I swallowed back my own sobs and felt m
y eyes fill with tears. Today I was getting married, and even though my real mother had done so much to prepare an elegant and fancy affair, I longed for Momma and Daddy Longchamp and wished that somehow they could be at my side. To me it was as if I were being married without my parents present. Randolph was a pathetic soul, hardly a father figure, and Mother . . . well, for Mother, this was as much her party as it was my wedding.
Despite my reluctance to do so, I couldn't help but think about Michael and about the wonderful, romantic times we had in his apartment in New York. That was when he had made all sorts of promises to me, when we had planned our own storybook wedding, when he had filled my eyes with visions of glamour and excitement—a wedding ceremony attended by all sorts of celebrities and covered by the newspapers and magazines, a honeymoon on the French Riviera, a chalet in Switzerland, cruises, parties on yachts and a triumphant return to the stage, singing our hearts and souls out to each other in a way that would make us both superstars.
All of that popped out of my mind like a soap bubble. If it wasn't for Christie, I would try to convince myself none of it had actually happened.
