Wicked Forest by V. C. Andrews
There was only a ripple of laughter, as though some thought Whitney had made a faux pas referring to anyone being loony.
"I know there are many people you don't know here, Willow, and even you don't know. Grace, so we have designed a fun way to introduce everyone to you. Girls," she cried.
Everyone began to form a circle around the large table between the settees on which Bunny and her friends were sitting. A large straight chair that looked more like a throne was brought up and placed next to the table, upon which was placed a silver bowl. In it were pieces of folded paper.
"Willow," Whitney said. indicating I should take the seat. I looked at Mother, who shook her head and smiled.
"It's all in good fun," Whitney emphasized. I approached the chair and looked toward Manon and the others as I sat. They were all staring at me with tiny smiles on their lips, except for Marjorie, who looked as angry and critical as she had at lunch at the club.
"What is this?" I asked.
"We have asked everyone here to jot down a suggestion as to how to make your marriage successful. You have to pick each one out and read it aloud, and then we'll all try to guess who wrote it. That will give you an instant idea of what this new friend of yours is like, what she considers important in a marriage," Whitney said, turning and panning her gaze over the guests.
To me they all suddenly looked like little girls at a pajama party about to disclose their heartfelt secrets. I could see the anticipated titillation in their eyes.
Not everyone here is married," I pointed out, gazing at the Club d'Amour.
Whitney pursed her lips, then smiled again.
"But everyone here has her idea of what it takes to make a marriage successful, even the divorced ones. Or should I say, especially the divorced ones?" she added, and everyone laughed.
"Can't everyone simply introduce herself?" I asked.
"Don't tell us you're afraid of good advice," Whitney challenged. "A little thing like that can't frighten a Palm Beach woman, and you're soon to be a Palm Beach woman, right. ladies?"
"Right," they cheered.
I glanced at Mother again. She was still smiling politely, but I saw the look of anxiety in her eyes. She didn't want me to be as uncomfortable as I knew she was. I decided to play along and make it seem as harmless and silly as I could, more for her sake than my own.
"Very well, let the games begin," I declared.
Whitney looked very satisfied. She glanced at Bunny, who nodded at the Carriage sisters. The two looked like they were about to take notes.
I plucked out the first slip of paper and unfolded it. "Read it aloud," Whitney ordered,
"Make him sleep in a separate bedroom so he has to get permission to enter twice," I read, and they all laughed,
"Ladies?" Whitney cried.
"Lucien Castle," they cried, fingers pointing at a woman who looked well into her fifties, despite her obvious face-lift and platinum hair.
"Well, it works for me. Never let them take you for granted," she advised, shaking her head at ine. "Obviously, my advice has stuck or they wouldn't have known it was my suggestion," she concluded with pride.
"Next," Whitney ordered.
I pinched another slip and opened it.
At least once a month, have him wear your nightgown and you wear his pajamas to bed."
After the laughter, there was silence.
"Ladies?" Whitney asked the guests. Eyes searched faces. "The rule is, if we can't guess it in thirty seconds. You have to step forward.'
The most unlikely suspect in the group did so. She was a short, plump woman who looked every bit of sixtv-five to seventy.
"Oh. I told some of you about that," she declared. "My first husband and I followed it religiously, and we had a lovely marriage until he died. I'm Jean Blackman, My first husband, Wesley Shaw, had some business dealings with your stepfather Winston, Grace.
"Oh, yes." Mother said. although I could see she didn't recall.
"I'm happy to be the one who's the most shocking so far. Apparently, you younger ladies can still use some good advice and are not as exciting in the boudoir as you would have us older ladies believe."
There was laughter, but still restrained by surprise. "You sure this is a good idea?" I whispered to Whitney.
"Absolutely. Look how quickly you're getting to know everyone. Next." she cried, and sipped some champagne.
I chose another and opened it.
"Every time he neglects you, spend twice as much as you did the time before."
"Heather Dresser." the Carriage sisters chanted before anyone else.
"Guilty." a tall, dark-complexioned woman cried, her hands up. She stepped forward. "I've bankrupted two husbands and I'm terrorizing a third. I think he's a faster learner and this one will survive." Even Mother was laughing at that.
"Heather's wardrobe, if hung in a straight line, would reach her hometown in Canada." Jean Blackman quipped.
"Look who's talking."
"Next," Whitney ordered over the laughter.
I opened another. My silence sent a nervous titter through the party.
"Even if you do the exact opposite of what she suggests, 'yes' your mother-in-law to death."
"That's mine." Marjorie Lane cried before she could be accused. "Willow and I have already met, so she would probably have guessed. My analyst warned me my ex-mother-in-law would get between me and my husband, even in bed.
There was a pregnant pause.
"Willow doesn't have to worry about that," Bunny finally declared. "My son isn't my type. He's much too serious and responsible."
Laughter of relief followed. Whitney gazed down at me, her eyes sparkling with mischief and glee.
"Go on." she said. "We have to get to the brunch soon." More reluctantly than before. I took out another.
"Always pretend to have multiple orgasms, even if you don't have any. Their sensitive egos need it."
"That fits us all." Heather Dresser declared.
Everyone laughed, but no one was accused, and no one came forward to claim it.
"Well?" Whitney asked the group. her hands on her hips after nearly a minute of silence. "If your husband doesn't satisfy you and you were ashamed to have written it, why did you?"
"Go on to the next one. Whitney," Bunny ordered.
"No. Someone is breaking the rules. It's not fair. Let me see that," she demanded, seizing the slip from me. She studied it. All right, We'll leave this out on the table by the door. Everyone look at it and put down the name of the person you think matches the handwriting and drop it in the bowl. We'll announce the vote before we leave. Last chance not to be embarrassed," she warned,
"I would rather no one be embarrassed. Whitney," I said firmly. "This is supposed to be a nice time for me and for all the guests."
"She's right. Whitney," Marion Florette agreed. "Besides. I'm hungry. Isn't it time to eat?"
A wave of agreement followed. Whitney threw me a glare of anger and disappointment, but quickly changed it to a syrupy smile and relented,
"You'll each just have to introduce yourselves to Willow the old-fashioned way, then." she said. "Let's move into the garden for our brunch and, following that, we'll have the opening of gifts in the parlor. I have the patio set up for a Viennese dessert feast afterward, and let's not have anyone pretend to be loyal to her diet.
"Why don't you hold on to the rest of those slips. Willow?" she told me sotto voce. "Some of them probably do have good advice written on them."
I put the bowl aside and stood up.
"You should probably save them for someone who will actually need them." I told her.
I saw the way Mother swelled with satisfaction and pride.
Whitney gave me a hollow, thin laugh, and turned to see to the brunch. The guests who hadn't spoken converged on Mother and me, eager to introduce themselves and, to my mind, to speak with Mother almost as much as they spoke to me.
One of the women introduced herself as Arlette Mitchell and told me sh
"'What a coincidence that you have the same college classes as my son. He's told me all about you." "Oh?"
She leaned in so those nearby couldn't hear. "He fell into a nearly fatal depression when he realized you were already engaged to be married. He would die if he knew I'd told you," she added.
I wanted to ask. "So why did you?" but I swallowed the words,
"He's very shy. I told him he just has to keep looking until he finds someone just like you. I didn't get to marry the man I adored when I was Holden's age. You know what they say, you fall in love over and over with the same man, the man who first captured your heart.
But I suppose that's all nonsense," she said quickly. "Just romantic nonsense. I wish you the best." She left to speak to someone else on the way into the brunch.
The brunch itself was wonderful and in my mind probably rivaled the wedding feast itself. There were lobster, shrimp, and fish dishes, a variety of meats and poultry, each at a table with someone there to slice and serve. The platters of vegetables were beautifully displayed, many covered in sauces that made it impossible to know what they were until you asked. The champagne continued to flow as well as wine.
Mother and I sat with Bunny and the Carriage sisters, who provided an ongoing commentary about each and every guest at the shower. In minutes we knew whose marria.ae was in trouble, who had problems with her children or siblings, whose husband was in some financial trouble., and who was richer than she was a year ago.
Before we were herded into the parlor for the opening of my gifts. Manon Florette approached me.
"You see from that little bridal-shower game how catty most of them can be. You need allies here. Willow. You need friends like us. I'll call you and let you know when we're meeting again," she added before I could respond one way or another.
From the way Mother looked at me. I thought she might have overheard, but she said nothing. I was happy at how busy she was, at how many women, for one reason or another, wanted to speak with her. Whether she liked it or not, she was famous to them. They seemed to bathe in her notoriety. She was surprised at how many invitations she received. As Thatcher had predicted, we were suddenly "the flavor of the month."
The stack of gifts in the parlor looked big enough to require a decent-sized pickup truck to deliver. While we were having brunch, Whitney had assigned a servant to pile them neatly, the larger gifts on the bottom, so that it looked like a pyramid. The shower guests all sat in a circle and waited for me to unwrap each before they chanted their oohs and aahs.
There were silver and gold candleholders, jewelry boxes. And expensive vases. The girls from Manon's Club d'Amour gave me all sorts of lingerie-- even leather! --which brought lots of laughter and comment. Opening each gift and hearing commentary about it was tiring. I was happy when I was finished. Whitney told me it would all be delivered to the house.
"I imagine you will want it delivered to the main house," she said. "since it's only a matter of days now until my parents move out and you and your mother and brother move in. I understand Thatcher is going to stay rather than move out and then back in again."
"Yes," I said, holding my smile and not blinking. "Delivering everything there sounds sensible, then, doesn't it?"
"That's why I thought of it," she said. Turning to the guests, she cried. "Onward to dessert. ladies:'
If any guest was worried about her diet, she did a fine job of hiding that fact. Most of them had to have a taste of everything. The setting was
magnificent. Under a blue sky with a few puffy clouds moving lazily from the south. I couldn't have had a more beautiful afternoon on which to celebrate the event. Whitney and Hans had an English maze below their tiered patio. The flowers and trees were breathtaking. There were two pools, one for adults and one for children, cabanas, and barbecue pits. She had a trio playing light classical music. It was very difficult to do as Jackie Lee had advised Mother and keep the exclamation points off the ends of ray sentences. Whitney moved about like a queen. At one point. I gazed up at the house and saw Laurel, her face framed in a slightly opened curtain, looking down at us like an imprisoned child.
Daddy once told me there were all sorts of prisons: "People you think have the most freedom are often incarcerated by their lifestyle or their own nightmares and thoughts. They move about in cages, and it is my job, and someday perhaps yours. Willow, to help them step out."
He would certainly say that here, I thought.
Just before it all ended. Thatcher made a surprise appearance, charming everyone with a little thank-you speech, thanking his mother and sister for welcoming me to the family so enthusiastically. Bunny soaked it all up and spoke as if it was her original idea for Thatcher to ask me to marry him. Mother and I could only glance at each other and smile.
"I guess we made quite a haul here." Thatcher commented. "I saw the pile of gifts being loaded into a van."
He kissed Whitney. then said he had to fly off and get back to earning enough money to keep me in the style to which he was accustomed, which brought lots of laughter. Just before he left. Manon Florette called out to him and asked if I was going to be welcomed as a surprise guest at his bachelor party.
"What's good for the goose is good for the gander, Thatcher,' she said.
"I think if she takes a gander at that party, she'll want to cook the goose." he replied, and gave me a quick kiss on his way out.
It would have been a long, exhausting shower party, even without the added tension both Mother and I felt, so neither of us was surprised at how tired we were when it all finally ended.
"All I want to do is sleep." I told her as we drove out the gates.
When we arrived home. Linden greeted us with a phone message my cousin Margaret Selby had left. She and my aunt. Agnes Delray, had decided they would attend my wedding after all. and Margaret would be one of my bridesmaids.
"Thatcher called. too," Linden said. "for me. He wants me to go to his bachelor party."
"Oh, that will be nice. Linden. What did you say?"
"I said I'd think about it. Do you want me to go?" he asked me.
"Only if you want to. Linden. I don't want you to do anything that you think will make you unhappy or uncomfortable."
He nodded, thoughtful, then said abruptly. "I'll go."
"Remember, von shouldn't drink with your medication. Linden." Mother warned him.
He minted and left us. "I'll remind Thatcher." I told her, "He'll look after him."
"I know we want him to get out, to mix with people. but I can't help but worry." she said. Then she sighed and added, "I suppose that's a mother's curse, always to worry. Wait until you're a mother. You'll understand."
"I understand now." I assured her.
One week later, the moving van arrived to pack up Bunny and Asher Eaton's things, I was at college, but when I returned the truck was still there. I spotted Linden on the sidelines, watching the moving men load the van. The pleasure in his face was quite evident, and I thought he resembled someone whose country had been under occupation for years now watching the defeated army in retreat. After all, for most of his life, he had been relegated to the back of the property and treated like an unwanted, weird person to be ignored and avoided as much as possible. How often had he looked up at the main house, perhaps the windows of a specific room, and thought about his and my mother's situation? Years of resentment festered in and around his heart.
Bunny had assured my mother and me that her maids would leave the house immaculate. Linden said we should have it fumigated.
"She'll be too proud and too afraid of any criticism to leave it any other way. Linden," Mother assured him.
Thatcher and I had discussed the costs of running the grand home, and he had decided that since we were making it our home, he would take over the upkeep and we would maintain the two maids_. Joan and Mary, and, at his own request. Jennings, who was not eager to be packed off with Bunny and Asher. There would be little, if any, transition
Jennings and the two maids then came to the beach house to begin to transfer our things. We had already determined that Thatcher's suite would become our suite. Mother would have what was once Bunny and Asher's suite. and Linden would have the bedroom next to the room he was going to use as his studio.
One room that had remained untouched, even when Bunny and Asher lived here, was the bedroom that my mother had when she was living here with Jackie Lee and Kirby Scott. The Eatons had treated it as if it were the scene of a murder. It was while she was in that roam that my mother had been seduced and raped by Kirby Scott, I could see from the way she glanced at it and how her steps quickened when she passed it that it still carried the weight of those horrid memories for her. Linden mumbled that it should probably be walled up.
As Whitney had made a point of remarking. Thatcher was staying. Even though we weren't getting married for almost another six weeks, there was no point in his moving himself out and then moving himself back in. We didn't expect it to be any great shock in Palm Beach.
"I'll be so busy. getting ahead on my work to make time for our wedding and subsequent
honeymoon anyway." Thatcher said, "that I'll practically be nonexistent."
During the first week of our settling in, he was going on a fishing trip with a client. It was something he had been promising to do for some time, and he'd decided it might be a good time to do it.
"To give you, your mother. and Linden a chance to get settled in and adjusted without me hovering about." he explained. "Although I'll miss you."
He was to be gone four days. They were going down to the Keys and then around through the Gulf and back. Between my college work with finals approaching and our moving into the house, I didn't have all that much time to spend with him anyway.
If we thought that Bunny's having moved away would slow down her planning and plotting of the wedding, we were in for an immediate surprise. She actually returned the day we moved in to discuss the bridesmaids' gifts. A friend of hers whose daughter had married in Rome recently had what she thought was a wonderful idea: a picture of the bride and the groom and their immediate families put on the face of a table clock.