Part 20 (1/2)
”When would you want the hairdresser?”
”Tony, I didn't say I wanted to have it done. I don't know.”
”You see how beautiful your grandmother was in light hair, and your mother as well. What do you think?” His eyes burned with excitement.
”I don't know. Maybe.”
”All this therapy and medicine and solitude can be very boring.” He looked about. ”Oh, let me do it,” he pleaded. ”Let me hire the hairdresser. You should feel pretty, like a beautiful young woman again and not like an invalid.”
I smiled at his exuberance. It would be nice to feel pretty again. I looked down at the photographs. I imagined that having my mother's hair color when she was about my age would make me feel close to her again. She looked so happy there on the beach.
And my grandmother Leigh . . there was something wildly beautiful about her. The light hair suited her complexion, but would it suit mine?
”Well? What do you think?” he pursued, hovering over me like someone on pins and needles.
”Oh, Tony, I really don't know. I've never thought about dying my hair another color. It could turn out horrible.”
”If it doesn't suit you, I'll bring the hairdresser right back to restore your hair to what it is now.”
”Maybe after the service, Tony. I don't want to dote on myself right now. Thank you.” I handed the photographs back. He was disappointed but nodded with understanding.
”What about this dress?”
”Drake should be bringing me something appropriate. I included a black dress of my own on the list.” ”Won't you at least try it on?”
I saw how much it meant to him and began to wonder myself how I might look in it.
”I will.”
”I'll send Mrs. Broadfield right in to help you. After you have it on, call me,” he added, rus.h.i.+ng out before I could say another word. I hadn't meant I would try it on right this moment, but he looked as excited as a child on Christmas morning. I couldn't see denying him. A moment later Mrs. Broadfield appeared. She didn't look happy about it.
”It's not necessary to do this right now, Mrs. Broadfield, if you're busy with something.”
”If I were, I wouldn't be here.” She took the dress of the bed and looked at it a moment. Then she shrugged to herself and came around to help me sit up and slip off my nightgown. After she and I got the dress on me, she helped me into the wheelchair so I could see myself in the largest wall mirror.
Because I was seated, it was difficult to appreciate what I looked like in this dress, but I did think it made me look older. I hadn't taken much care with my hair since the accident, and now that I put on something other than a nightgown, it made me more aware of how terrible I looked. My hair looked dirty, stringy, greasy. The black dress brought out the paleness in my face and the fatigue in my eyes. I nearly burst into tears seeing myself.
Mrs. Broadfield stood to the side, her arms folded, watching me like some bored saleswoman in a clothing store. Helping me on with a dress was obviously not part of what she considered to be her nursing duties. I didn't hear Tony reenter. He stood just inside the doorway, staring. After a moment I felt his eyes on me and turned toward him. His face was enraptured, twisted in that strange smile I had been seeing more and more of lately. Mrs. Broadfield said nothing. She simply left the room.
”Oh, Tony, I look so terrible. I didn't realize. My hair is disgusting. No one said anything, not Drake, not you, none of the servants.”
”You're beautiful. You have a beauty that can't fade with time or illness. It's immortal. I knew that dress was right for you; I knew it. You'll wear it, won't you?”
”I don't know, Tony. I won't like myself in anything, so maybe it won't matter.”
”Of course it will matter. I'm sure that your mother will be smiling down and thinking how beautiful her daughter has become.”
”But my hair,” I repeated, holding up a straggly clump and then dropping it with disgust.
”I told you . . . let me send for a hairdresser right away. Look how horrible you feel because of your appearance. I'm not a physician, but I know if we don't feel good about ourselves, we don't improve. In fact, we can get sicker and sicker.”
How persistent he was, and yet what he was saying made sense. Was I wrong to think of my own looks at a time like this? Then Tony said something that convinced me.
”Luke hasn't seen you since you were in the hospital. I'm sure he expects you to look somewhat improved.”
Luke, I thought, surrounded now by pretty coeds, healthy, happy girls who can walk and laugh and do fun things with him. Maybe he had delayed coming to visit me because he couldn't stand to see me the way I was. I would surprise him; I would look stronger, better, and I would be better.
”All right, Tony, send for the hairdresser, but I'm not saying permit him to dye my hair yet. I think I just want it washed and styled right now.”
”Whatever you think.” He stepped back. ”How well that dress fits you. You will wear it, won't you? You should,” he said, nodding, his eyes intense, ”being it was your mother's.”
Once again-he said magic words.
”I'll wear it, Tony.”
”Good. Well now, I've got things to do. That hairdresser will be here if I have to fetch him myself.” He stepped closer to me. ”Thank you, Annie, for giving me a chance after the things I told you. You're truly a sweet and wonderful person.” He kissed me softly on the cheek. ”Be back soon,” he said and rushed out.
For a long moment I simply sat there staring at myself in the wall mirror. Back in Winnerrow Mommy had a few different black dresses, one very similar to this one, I thought. Maybe that was why, as I gazed into the mirror now, I felt as though her spirit merged with mine. I saw her eyes in my eyes, the smile around her lips become the smile around mine. It was like focusing a camera, bringing the lines of the image together so the picture would be clear and sharp.
My heart pounded with the pain that resulted from the realization she would never again come up beside me while I prepared to go out to a party or to school and put her hand on my shoulder, stroke my hair, give me some advice, or kiss my cheek. Wearing this dress and making myself look more like her only brought home that painful truth more vividly.
I wheeled myself away from the mirror and over to the vanity table to get a tissue. While I wiped my eyes, I looked at some of the other photographs. There was one particular picture that captured my attention. In it Mommy was posing in a silly way by the stables. Maybe Daddy took the picture; but what caught my eye was Tony in the background. He was gazing at her the same way he had just been gazing at me, with that same twisted smile.
I studied it for a few moments and then looked at some of the other photographs. One of my grandmother Leigh stood out. I brought it beside the one of my mother at the stables and realized what it was that made the two pictures so significant. My grandmother was at the stables, too, and she was taking a similarly silly poise and wearing the same riding outfit. When the two pictures were held side by side, my mother and her mother looked more like sisters.
Maybe that was what made Tony smile so. It should have made me smile, too, but it didn't.
”Did you want to take off that dress or wear it all day?” Mrs. Broadfield snapped. I turned about and saw her standing just in the doorway, her hands on her hips. If she was annoyed by Tony's orders, she shouldn't be taking it out on me, I thought. Aggressively, no longer willing to play humble and helpless, I held my head high and proud, flaring back.
”Of course not,” I said. ”I'll take it off and set it aside for tomorrow.”
Her eyes widened with surprise at my tone of voice and she dropped her hands from her hips.
”Fine. It's time for your hydrotherapy, anyway.” She went into the bathroom to prepare the hot water. This time when she lowered me into it, it seemed absolutely scalding. I cried out in pain, but she didn't seem concerned. I could see my skin turning crimson under the water. It took my breath away, and I tried to lift my body up and out, but she pressed my shoulders down, keeping me submerged in the scorching water.
”You've got to build up a tolerance to the heat,” she explained after I complained again, and then she started up the jets that made the water bubble and toss about. Hot drops bounced up to my b.r.e.a.s.t.s and neck, some hitting my cheeks and stinging. She left me there, clinging to the sides while she went out to prepare some creams for my ma.s.sage.
I looked down at my traitorous legs and feet and did as the doctor told me to do, think recuperation . . recuperation . . . recuperation. I had to get myself out of this situation as fast as I could. I stared at my toes and thought about moving them. Suddenly, I saw my big toe twitch.
”Mrs. Broadjield!”She didn't come back, thinking only wanted her to get me out of the hot tub. ”Mrs. Broadfield, come look!” I demanded. After I called again, she returned.
”I told you. You have to--”
”No, no, it's my big toe. The big toe on my right foot moved.” She looked down into the water. ”Move it again.”
I tried, but nothing happened.
”It did move. I saw it. I did!”
She shook her head.