afraid to say a word. He had seemed so big that she thought he could actually split her apart if he became angry. Then, when he had finished, he had withdrawn so roughly that she had cried out despite his warning. She had fallen, exhausted, into the pile of costumes, her face buried in velvet, and had heard him say, 'Love and pain. Ache, and remember me.' When she had turned around, he was gone.
Why in hell had she done it? She had been attracted to him, of course, but to have actually fucked him, knowing that he and her mother…
Or maybe, she thought, that was exactly why she had done it – to get back at her mother. A cheap, quick, easy (if painful) revenge. But it would be useful only if Ann knew about it. Terri was sure that Dennis wouldn't tell her, so that left only one way for her to find out.
Love and pain, mother – a lesson I've been taught, a lesson you taught my father, a lesson for you to learn too.
When she dressed and left the costume shop, she walked past Cristina. The cat spat at her, then ran away.
It was nearly eleven o'clock when Terri pulled her Jetta into the garage. Ann was not in the family room, so Terri went to her bedroom door, saw light beneath it, and knocked. 'Terri?' her mother said, and she opened the door and went inside. 'Is something wrong? You don't look well.'
'Maybe something's wrong. I'll let you be the judge of that.'
Ann put the bookmark in her volume and set it on the bedside table. 'Sit down.' Terri ignored her and remained standing, looking at Ann, who was wearing a long-sleeved nightshirt. Her hair was up, and she wore no makeup. She looked, Terri thought, every year of her age, and would look older once she heard the news. 'All right then, suit yourself. What is it?'
'I saw your boyfriend tonight.'
'My boyfriend.' Her face remained expressionless, as though she was determined not to let Terri get to her.
'Dennis. Remember him?' Ann said nothing. 'He paid me a visit in the costume shop.' She waited for a moment, but was rewarded only by her mother's silence, by a total lack of emotion in her face. 'We talked about the two of you for a while. And then – I wouldn't mention this unless I didn't think that you should know – he came on to me.'
'He came on to you,' she repeated flatly.
'Mmm-hmm. Tried to make me. To fuck me.' She still hadn't cracked that damn facade. 'And you know what?'
'You let him.'
'Yeah. I did.'
Ann picked up her book, opened it, and turned her attention back to its pages. 'That's nice, dear. Sleep well.'
'You don't believe me.'
'I didn't say that.'
'But you don't.' Terri smiled crookedly. 'What do I have to do to prove it to you?'
'Why would you want to prove it to me?'
'So you believe me.'
She closed the book and look up at her daughter. 'Is it that important? If it were true, what would you gain by telling me? Would you want me to do something about it? Should I go to Dennis and tell him that he should do the honorable thing and marry you? Or would just hurting me be enough?' She shook her head. 'Honestly, Terri, I don't know what you hope to gain.'
'He has a mole high up on his thigh,' she said, then looked up as if trying to remember. 'Now let me think…” She lifted her hands to eye level a foot in front of her face, spread her fingers, and turned her palms inward as though cupping imaginary buttocks. Then she opened her mouth roundly and let her eyes shift from hand to hand. 'The right thigh, it would be.' She dropped her hands. 'I couldn't have missed it from where I was. How about you?'
God yes, Terri thought, that got her. Ann's chin was trembling now, her eyes had grown very hard, and Terri's satisfaction was replaced by a feeling of loss, of something irretrievably broken. Still, her pride made her tough it out. 'I assume that you'll accept that as verification?'
'Just get out, Terri,' Ann said in a choked voice. 'I'm very tired, and I feel sick.”
“All right, Mother. I bid you good night.'
'Get out.' Ann reached over and turned off the light. Terri heard the book fall onto the floor. The pain coming out of the darkness was almost tangible, driving her through the door, and as she felt it she felt her own pain as well, and knew that this time she had gone too far, she had pushed her mother over the edge.
Pushed? No. She had pulled her. They were both going down, weren't they? Falling into an abyss of broken trust from which there would be no returning. God knew the times they had felt close, had laughed and joked together, were few enough, but now there would be no more at all. What she had done, what she had just said, had made them more than strangers. It had made them enemies.
In her room, Terri wept.
And Ann Deems wept too, wept knowing that what her daughter said could not be true, was not true, but doubting, and weeping for her doubt. She did not sleep well that night, and in the morning she called Donna Franklin to tell her that she was ill and could not come in to work. It was a cowardly thing to do, she knew. The best thing would be to go to Kirkland and confront the truth, whatever it might be. If what Terri had said was true, she would learn it quickly enough by the way Dennis acted toward her. If it was not true, she could learn that quickly enough too.
But either way she lost. If Dennis had not seduced Terri, then her daughter was a vicious liar. If he had, then the man she loved was not worthy of her love. It was a no-win situation, and one that she did not want to face. To move from such buoyant joy to such terrible doubt was more than she could bear.
So again, she thought to herself, she would take the coward's way out. She would avoid the confrontation. She would hide.
If she had known with what disappointment Dennis Hamilton heard of her absence, she would have been considerably cheered.
Dennis had begun the morning feeling radiant. He was to meet with Mack Redcay, a young set designer whose sprawling, passionate scenery had been the only thing the critics (and Dennis) had liked about the previous fall's 'big musical,' which, to everyone's amazement, was still running on the basis of advance ticket sales, but was rumored to be closing in early April.
Redcay had agreed to design Craddock, and had come to Kirkland that morning on a six o'clock commuter flight which Sid met at the Philadelphia Airport. Dennis, Redcay, and Curt breakfasted in Dennis's suite, and afterward they went down to the theatre to show the designer the stage. They were joined there by Evan, who had copies of the stage blueprints for Redcay, and by Donna Franklin, who had brought Redcay's contracts down from the office.
'Where's Ann?' Dennis asked her, as he had expected she would be the one to run that particular errand.
'She called in sick today.'
'Anything serious?' he said, trying to sound only vaguely interested and failing miserably.
'She didn't say – just that she felt under the weather.'
Dennis nodded and turned his attention back to Redcay and the stage, hoping there was nothing really wrong, and yet selfishly hoping that there was, for he could not bear the thought of Ann wanting to stay away from him.
The rest of the morning was spent touring the stage, exploring the flies (Evan, Dennis noticed, seemed reluctant to ascend), examining the area beneath, and endlessly going over the blueprints. Redcay seemed a quiet, almost sullen man, but his store of questions was endless, and before anyone realized it, it was time for lunch.
They decided to take Redcay to the Kirkland Inn, and were walking through the theatre lobby when they saw
