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I knew that now. I knew that the love I had for Logan was a love whose roots were in reality and I must cultivate that love, nourish it, and help it grow into a sturdy oak, unshakable by any wind and storm life would bring it. With Logan I would build a life, a family, a future. I had lost so much, but I still had much for which I could be grateful, much I could cherish.
Thinking
about all this brought tears to my eyes, but I did not cry myself to sleep. I simply closed my eyes and felt myself sink back into the pillow, falling, drifting, slipping away, until the sound of my suite door opening roughly jerked me back into consciousness. I sat up quickly and saw a man's dark silhouette in the doorway. For a moment I thought it was Troy. My heart jumped and then plunged when I heard the voice.
"Leigh," he said, "are you awake?"
It was Tony. Even from this distance I could smell the alcohol on his breath.
"What is it you want, Tony?" I asked, making my voice as cold and as hard as I could. He responded with a slight little laugh at first, and then he found the light switch on the wall and snapped it on. The room exploded with brightness. I covered my eyes and when I took my hands from them, I saw him approaching, wearing only a shirt and slacks, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. In his arms he carried one of Jillian's sheer nightgowns.
"I brought this for you," he said. His eyes were glassy; his hair was disheveled, looking like he had been running his fingers through it. "I love how it looks on you. Won't you wear it for me again? Please."
"I never wore that for you, Tony. You're drunk. Please, leave my room."
"But you did wear it for me. And look," he said, bringing his hand out from under the tightgown, "I've brought you some of Jillian's perfume. I know how much you like it. You're always trying to get her to give you some. Let me dab some on you," he said, sitting on my bed. I pulled myself farther back against the headboard, but he reached over, pressing the bottle to his fingers and then stroking the side of my neck with them. The heavy scent of jasmine filled my nostrils. I started to pull away when he brought his fingers down to the valley between my breasts.
"No, Tony, stop. I don't want to wear any of Jillian's perfume now. I said stop. You're drunk. Get out of here," I demanded. He looked at me and smiled as if he couldn't hear my words. Then, remembering the nightgown in his arms, he stood up and spread it out on the bed beside me, stroking it with affection as he did so.
"Go on, put it on," he said, "and then I'll lie down beside you as I did when you wore it before."
"Leave my room at once, Tony! I'm going to call the servants if you don't."
"Leigh," he whispered.
"I'm not Leigh!" I shouted. "I'm Heaven! Tony, get out of here! You're frightening me!"
Ignoring me again, he lifted the blanket and slipped under it to get beside me. I tried to escape, but he reached out and seized me around the waist, pulling me toward him.
"Leigh, don't leave me. Please. Don't listen to anything Jillian says. She's mad, jealous of you, jealous of every other woman. She's even jealous of our maids because one has nice hands or one has a nice chin." He brought his lips to my shoulder, pushing my nightgown down my arm with his cheek so he could press his mouth to my skin.
"Tony, stop!" I screamed.
I brought my hand to his temple and pushed him as hard as I could to keep him away from me. When his hand touched my breast, I screamed and clawed his face with my nails.
"Get out! Get out! Don't you know who I am? Don't you remember that I'm your own daughter and I'm pregnant!"
I slapped him across the face.
He stared at me a moment, blinking rapidly. I could see reality pushing the memories away, bringing him out of the past and back into the present. The realization of where he was and what he was doing came to him with a jolt. He swallowed hard and looked around.
"My God," he said. "I thought . ."
"You thought? You're drunk and disgusting! I want you to get out of here. Get out!" I screamed, getting out of the bed. He stared up at me.
"Oh, Heaven, forgive me. I just . . ." He looked at the nightgown he had brought and then up at me, his hand on his reddened cheek. "I just got confused.
"Confused?" The troubled thoughts that always crowded into the darkest corners of my brain came rushing out. I remembered other times when he touched me and kissed me, and suddenly every one of them seemed ugly, lustful, incestuous. Every fear, every sick and sorrowful memory announced itself. I could barely think; my mind was an echo chamber of screams and shouts. I pressed my hands against my ears. "You'relio better than any of my backwoods relatives, my hillbilly siblings, as you used to call them!" I shouted so loud my voice broke. "Your money hasn't made a single bit of difference. You're no better than the ignorant Winnerow hillbillies who rape their daughters!"
"Heaven, no . ."
"Get out! Get out!" I shouted again.
He lifted himself from the bed, scooping up Jillian's sheer nightgown as he did so, and began to back away toward the door, shaking his head.
"Please, please forgive me. I was drunk . . I didn't know what I was doing. Please," he said, holding his hand out toward me.
I shook my head, the tears rushing down my cheeks, my body shaking.
