One evening at dinner in mid-June, Tony announced his intention to go to Europe on business. Unlike the times when Daddy would make such an announcement, Momma did not become immediately unhappy, complain and pout. She was very
understanding and very interested in what he was going to do.
"There's this company in Europe," he explained, "that I recently learned about, a company similar to my own, making different sorts of things for the very wealthy classes in Europe. One of the things I'm afraid of is its expansion to the United States. It might steal away our clientele. I want to learn more about them and see firsthand what sort of competition might be in store for me.
"Why don't you come along, Jillian? It could be like a second honeymoon. I don't have to spend all my time on business. There's a lot of sightseeing to do."
"Europe? Now?" Momma groaned. "It's too hot and the Continent is overrun with tourists. Besides, I told you think we should consider redoing some of the rooms in Earthy, and you said I could go ahead and meet with my decorators. I'll have to get started on that."
Tony wasn't happy, but he left for Europe by himself a few days later. Momma seemed relieved, as if a major responsibility had been lifted from her shoulders. She started on the redecorating
immediately, having long meetings with decorators, filling the music room with books and books of wallpaper, carpet, and fabric samples, as well as pictures of furniture. She gathered her experts around her like a queen and her entourage, and went from room to room discussing, listening to suggestions, making suggestions. She even had them to dinner, where she continued the discussions of fashions, colors and styles into the evening.
The school year ended and all of us in the "special club" said our goodbyes, promising to write each other as much as possible. I felt terrible about never having invited anyone, even just Jennifer, to Farthy, but each time they had inquired, I had been forced to come up with another good excuse, leaning heavily on Troy's health problems. I knew they were all very disappointed, especially Jennifer, but there was little I could do. Whenever I had brought it up, Momma would go into a panic, sometimes even a rage. It was too soon . . . wait, wait, WAIT. I grew tired of asking.
But a little less than a week after Tony had left for Europe, Momma surprised me by telling me I could invite Jennifer to spend a few days at Farthy. I called her at home and told her. She squealed with delight. It had been only a week since school ended for the year, but we already missed each other terribly.
She was very impressed with Farthy. I took her horseback riding on the beach and we went swimming every day. She loved Troy, who enjoyed showing her about and demonstrating his toys. Unfortunately, he was not permitted to go swimming yet. There was even some question about his being allergic to the chlorine.
Jennifer was fascinated by Momma. She won Momma over immediately when she told her she couldn't believe someone who looked as young as she did had a daughter as old as I was. Momma asked her dozens of questions about her family and her home in Hyannis at dinner every night. And then Momma made all sorts of suggestions to her about how to wear her hair, what clothes would be most flattering, what color lipstick to wear. Jennifer listened attentively, her eyes big, nodding as if she were sitting with a movie star. Afterward, she couldn't stop talking about how beautiful and sophisticated Momma was.
We sat up in my room until very late every night talking.
"Your mother is so young-looking and beautiful. Was your daddy heartbroken when they got a divorce?" she asked one night.
I recalled Daddy that morning on
The Jillian
when he came to my room to tell me what Momma had decided.
"Yes, but he blamed himself and kept himself as busy as possible so as not to think about it. Momma always said he was married to his business as much as he was married to her," I added sadly, for I had come to believe that some of that was true.
"I can't imagine your daddy not wanting to throw himself off the ship when he learned he would lose her," Jennifer said. Then the smile that accompanied this romantic fantasy wilted and she turned away, her eyes filling rapidly with tears.
"What's wrong, Jen?"
"It's my mother," she said, weeping. "She's dating another man, a man who was once my daddy's best friend." She spun around, her eyes wet, but her face on fire. "I told her I hated him and he would never be my daddy and I hated her for seeing him."
"What did she say?" I asked, holding my breath.
"She cried and told me she couldn't help it because she was lonely. It wasn't enough that she had me and my sister. She needed a husband.
"But I don't want another man living in my house and using my daddy's things!" she cried. "I don't, I don't!" She began to sob. I embraced her and held her and then I told her about Daddy and Mildred Pierce. She stopped crying and listened anti soon felt sorry for me.
"Oh Leigh," she said, "adults are so very selfish. I'll never be like that when I'm their age. Will you?"
"I don't know, Jen. I hope not, but I don't know." What was the point in making vows and promises? We could swear on a thousand Bibles that we would never betray each other or the people we loved, but Fate seized us in its grip sometimes and made us forget our dreams. I was tempted to tell Jennifer the truth about me, the truth about Momma and what she had done, but I was too ashamed of it. It was a secret that would burn in my heart only, no matter how painful that fire was.
We were both very sad when it came time for her to go home. She asked Momma if I could come visit her and Momma replied, "We'll see. There is much we have to do here this summer, dear, and Leigh has to help with Troy."
Help with Troy? I thought. Since when did Momma worry about how Troy was occupied? What she really meant was help with Tony, but she couldn't say that. Oh, once again my Momma's selfishness made her wants come before mine. It was unnatural, I thought, to put me in charge of entertaining
her
new husband.
One day in late June dawned very hot and I had spent most of the afternoon lounging at the pool and reading. Troy and his nurse had been with me for a few hours since the doctor had put Troy on a schedule of sunshine, now that summer was in full swing. I remained at the pool until the sun started to drop behind the trees and cooler, long shadows crept up over the patio to cover the lounge chairs and me. I slipped into my robe, put my towel around my neck, and started for the house. When I entered, I heard Momma's and Tony's voices coming from the living room on the right.
"Leigh!" Tony cried as soon as I peeked in. "I've missed you! Look how tan you've gotten in only this short time." "Hello, Tony. How was your trip?"
"Quite successful," he said and smiled at Momma. She sat back on the new Charles II, ornately carved and caned armchair she had bought as part of redecorating the room. With her pear-shaped diamond earrings dangling, her hair swept back perfectly, not a strand out of place, and her fingers covered with emerald, diamond, ruby and sapphire rings, she looked like a queen. She wore a white lace dress with a sweetheart neckline so that her most precious diamond necklace lay softly on top of her rose-tinted bosom.
"Tony has a wonderful new idea," she proclaimed. "And he wants you to be a part of it."
"Me?" I stepped farther into the room.
"Remember I told you about this European company that was making toys similar in style and purpose to the Tatterton toys?" he said quickly. I nodded. "Well, they have some of the finest artisans in the world in Europe. What am I saying? They do have the finest. But," he added winking first at me and then at Mamma, "I have some of them now.
"In any case, during my travels to one of their factories in a small village just outside of Zurich, I discovered they were making something called 'portrait dolls.
--
"Portrait dolls?" I slipped onto the settee to listen.
"Yes. Brilliant idea!" he said, clenching his hands into fists and lifting them to punctuate his enthusiasm. "None are more enamored and entranced with themselves than the wealthy. They think their money and position buy them immortality, so they all have their portraits painted by the best artists and photographs taken by the best photographers. They will go to any length, spend any amount of money, to get it done to their satisfaction."
"What does this have to do with dolls?" I asked.
"Everything. Imagine a doll that has your face and is your doll! Everyone will want one--mothers, daughters, sisters, aunts; even men will come to want male dolls made in their images eventually.
"And we will be the first to do it here in America so a Tatterton doll will become the thing to have, something special, precious, a personalized collectible. Brilliant!" he exclaimed again, this time pounding his knees with his fists.
I had to admit Tony's fervor took my breath away and the idea did sound very good. "But how does this involve me?" I asked, remembering what had drawn me deeper into the room and the conversation. Tony gazed at Momma, his smile deepening, and she smiled back and then turned to me.
"Tony wants you to be the model for the very first doll and he wants to do the doll himself," she said.
"Me?" I gazed from one to the other. Mamma's face was locked in her soft, happy smile. Tony's eyes were fixed on me, already with an artist's intensity. "Why me?"
"For one thing," Tony began, "I want to make the first set of dolls for young girls. Not little girls," he added quickly, "young girls, teenage girls. That's going to be the biggest market of all for the portrait dolls, I think. Little girls are not old enough to appreciate the extra-special artwork involved, but most importantly, they don't dote on their own image and worry about how they look as much as teenage girls do."
"But I still don't understand. Why me, of all people?" I asked. Tony shook his head.
"Isn't it wonderful, Jillian, that she has such modesty?"
Momma looked at me with a twinkle in her eyes as if she understood I was being coy. She had told me often that men like it when beautiful women pretend to be modest. It gives them an opportunity to heap compliments on them without shame or fear of being too flattering, and the woman could draw compliment after compliment by denying and blushing and looking as though she needed the adulation.
But I wasn't doing any of that. I really couldn't understand why Tony wanted me to be a model for a special doll. There were many girls my age, girls who were far more beautiful and who were trained to be models. With his money and investments, he could hire the best in the country, if he wanted to. Why me?
"Tony thinks you are special, Leigh, and so do I," Momma said.
"You already have a doll's face," Tony explained. I shook my head. "Yes, you do, Leigh. You can cling to modesty if you like, but why should I go searching for the right look, the right girl, when I have the perfect look and the perfect girl living right under my roof?
"I'm going to have the best photographer in town take pictures of your face, many pictures until we decide on the perfect one, and then, I'll have that, picture placed beside the first doll, whose face will be yours, too. Then all my rich customers will
understand what a portrait doll is and want one for themselves. Your picture will be featured in all my store windows . . . everywhere," he said.
The idea made my heart beat fast. What would my girlfriends say, the "special club"? I knew they would all be jealous, but Tony was probably right-- each would want a doll made of herself. I sat back and thought about it seriously for the first time--a doll with my face.
"I'm so proud that Tony wants the first doll to be you," Momma said. I gazed at her for a moment. Why didn't Tony want to use Momma's face? She still looked so young and she had a perfect face, a face everyone agreed was beautiful.
What puzzled me too was that Momma wasn't jealous. She looked happy about it.
Then I thought, Momma would never agree to do such a thing anyway. She would hate to have to sit for hours and hours while Tony painted her. Or, was there more to it?
"What do I have to do?" I asked.
Tony laughed.
"Just be yourself, nothing more, your entire self."
"My entire self?"
"The doll has to be perfect," Tony said. "In every aspect. It's not going to be just another doll, molded and reproduced in some assembly line. It's a work of art. That's the point. Think of it as a miniature statue, only made like a child's doll."
"What does all that mean?" I asked, my voice coming out breathless, almost a whisper. Tony looked at Momma, his smile wilting. Her eyes quickly turned from soft, happy eyes to angry eyes.
"It means you will be a model, Leigh. Why are you acting so stupid all of a sudden? A model, an artist's model. You'll pose."
"But don't artists' models usually pose . . . in the nude?"
I asked, fearfully.
Tony laughed as if I had said the silliest thing.
"Of course they do," he replied nonchalantly. "What of it? It's art, and as I said, this doll is going to be a miniature statue."
I tried to swallow. Stand in a room somewhere naked while Tony painted a picture of me, a picture anyone could see?
"It's not like Tony's a complete stranger," Momma said shaking her head and smiling. "He's family now. I wouldn't want anyone else to do it but him," she added.
"And don't think it all won't be done in a very professional manner," Tony added. "Just because I am president of my company now doesn't mean I didn't begin as an artist myself. All of the Tattertons do. I was working as a Tatterton artist when my father died and then I had to take over the administrative aspects of the business.
"But this is too important and too delicate to assign to just another artisan at my factory, and, as Tinian says, we wouldn't want any stranger copying your image."
When I didn't reply and there was a long moment of silence, Tony continued.
"Let rue explain the process so you can understand what has to be done. First, I'll draw a picture of you. Then I'll paint it in, trying to capture skin tones. After that, work in clay, sculpting a model to get all the dimensions, and once that is done I'll have it cast and duplicated.
"Well," he said, filling the silence again, "talk it over with Jillian. I have to make some phone calls and see what's been going on in my absence and then look in on Troy. Don't worry about anything," he added. "You'll do fine and become quite famous in the process." He got up, kissed Momma and then left us alone.