I was born on March 31st, 1976, a fire dragon, my mother proclaimed. In a book at the library about the chinese zodiac, it said that dragon women fairly exude sexuality and there is a decidedly exotic air about them. The fire element dragon is a powerful force to be reckoned with. Though they value objectivity, they do not always employ the best desicion making measures, and sometimes jump to the wrong conclusion. They also suffer from recklessness. Being an Aries as well, this implicates that as my story continiues, you'll expect to see my behavior escalate to extremes. Whether what I've done is extreme or not I really don't know, the reader may judge for him or herself. I will say this though, Foxworth Hall is no ordinary house. It has made people do reckless things over the years. But that's just my opinion.
The next day brought Cindy, who made me think of a bluebird, fluttering her teenage wings breathlessly. Bart was more rude to her, his own sister, than he'd been even to me. Perhaps he wasn't really more rude, but rather because she was young and in doubt of herself like every teen, his harsh words hurt her more than they had me. It was painful to watch.
The long days of summer at Foxworth Hall were beautiful but awkward at times for me. I still struggled to find my place in the family. With Joel and Bart popping up occasionally to ruin the moment, it became almost unbearable. In another life, I probably wouldn't have associated with any of them. But that life was gone, snatched away by...something. That didn't keep me from looking back on what life was once and what it could have been if I'd never heard of Foxworth Hall.
I tried to ignore the presence of it, but it seeped up from the floorboards, like the floodwaters during hurricane season. It lurked around corners, hid in the shadows, silently cackling at the discomfort everyone felt.
Despite my statements when I came here, I spent a good deal of my time by myself, wandering the grounds, hanging out in my room, always trying and failing to stave off my thoughts of Jory. Thinking about it analytically, I wondered if I was using Jory as a distraction from the horrible truth about this house. It didn't really matter. I would be leaving soon. I talked mostly to Cindy who was too young to be wary of me. I was the only one at Foxworth Hall close enough to her age to understand and relate to her. We'd broken the ice when she told me how much she liked my top, a sheer silk black collared shirt I wore with a black spaghetti strap tank underneath. Her enthusiasm was refreshing, and once she smoked with me in my room. We spent an afteroon cracking each other up, and I discovered that there was great deal her parents didn't know about her. On the whole, Cindy wasn't a bad sort, only dying to be grown and have grown relationships, like any other girl her age.
When the party workers began constructing a stage, I had an idea. I had enough money to buy a spectacular preformance for Bart's party, and in this way, I could introduce myself properly to the family. I'd already written a song that would do the job wonderfully in Arizona. The preformace would serve a dual purpose and pull on their heart strings, while showing them who I was. I quickly and feverishly set to work, calling everyone I knew, all the aquaintances I'd made in New York during fashion week. I thought it was funny that I never saw a poster for the ballet while I was there, but maybe I had, and I wasn't looking properly then.
I paid off Bart's party planner when I caught him leaving for the day, so he'd put aside a spot for me in the show. After discussing my idea with him, he said it'd be a wonderful surprise for Bart. He still took the five thousand dollars.
I'd please everyone, even Bart.
Early on Bart's special day, I left the house and drove into Charlottesville to get my hair done, and a few other things of an asthetic nature. I was nervous, excited, and just a little pleased with myself. Edwin Collins' "Never Met a Girl Like You" was playing in the salon, and I tapped my toes to it, and I felt the same power surging within me that I'd felt walking out of the Library. I felt sexy, strong, all woman. Tonight.
Tugging free, I had climbed five steps when Bart appeared with a satisfied smirk on his handsome but momentarily evil face. He whispered as he passed,
"I just gave her what you never did. A thorough spanking. If she can sit for a week comfortably, she's got an ass made of iron."
I glanced backward in time to see Joel scowl at the use of that word. Ignoring Joel for a change, smiling like the perfect host, Bart arranged us into a receiving line. I wondered where Marceline could be, for I hadn't seen her all that day. Not a moment after I'd thought of it, I heard a tapping on the stairs. I turned slowly to look and I gasped. Chris noticed immeadiately and looked too. Soon we were all looking at the top right of the stairs.
Marceline was wearing a silver strapless gown that was tight on the bust and flowing down to the hem that brushed the floor. It was silk with thousands of pin sized silver sequins to make the light jump from one side of it to the other. A silver and diamond brooch was fastened to the front of the bust in the shape of a star burst, and on her wrists were silver cuffs attached to a long, sheer, sparkling silver train that draped down in a long U shape on both sides. She'd had her bangs pinned back and her hair was twisted in the front around her skull and hung free in the back. She wore a designed silver party mask on her face with black feathers on one side to curl up around her temple. Her eyes were pointed toward the ground, and a small smile was upon her lips, as if she knew how dazzling she looked. In her arms she carried a large rectangular box wrapped in silver paper and tied with a black ribbon. The most shocking thing about her appearance was the vanishing of her tattoos! Now how in the world had she done that?
She descended the stairs in a dreamy fashion, looking like a fairy queen, her eyes glued to the floor. When she neared the bottom, she flashed her eyes at Jory, and my heart jumped in my chest, for it appeared for a moment that she had given herself over very briefly to strong feelings she was trying to hide. She approached Bart, still smiling that queer little smile, and held the box out to him.
"Happy Birthday, Bart." she said.
He gestured wordlessly, open mouthed, to the gift table. She bent her knees and her head in a slight bow, then glided over to the table, placing her gift that just had to be a designer suit on top of the enormous pile. She had hair extensions in and they hung all the way down her back. She whirled to face us with a luminous happiness on her face.
"You all look so wonderful. And Bart these decorations are spectacular, truly."
"I love that dress." Melodie said.
"Thank you. I see you're wearing the Chanel empire gown. New York all the way."
Melodie laughed charmingly as Bart peeled his eyes off of Marceline and turned to look at Melodie yet again.
"Ever the fashionista." Chris said.
"Where's Cindy?" Marceline peered around.
I turned to Chris to look at him helplessly, and he swooped in to rescue me as he always had.
"She's changing, she should be along shortly."
Bart was a charming and gracious host to everyone who came pouring into the house. I suspect it was the custom dress and the airbrushed tattoos that made Bart introduce me as his cousin with as much sincerity as if he truly considered me a part of his family. The faces of the guests all blurred into a wash as their numbers increased exponentially. Cindy looked ruffled as she came down, her face was flushed and she and Bart had a few words. Their fight looked like it was going to escalate, but Chris yanked them apart and put his foot down. I always liked it when Chris acted as the disciplinarian. Can't really say why.
Soon we were out in the gardens which looked a marvel. The round orb paper lanterns, the flowers, the table cloths, the sumptuous spread of decadent food and drink, the ice sculpture. It sprawled below us, glowing golden orange and the atmosphere was warm, romantic, and merry. The mountains with the sun sunk under them were lined with a pink haze against an inky darkness that descended from the heavens. The scent of the flowers and the promise of taking off my makeup later to find my skin glowing from the satisfaction of a long evening was enough to put a smile on my face, even though I knew none of the guests, which might have made me self concious otherwise.
Jory and Melodie had Cindy introduced to the younger guests, and soon she had taken the lead, with Bart distracted enough not to crush her fledgling spirit. About five young men hung about her like a pack of wolves, seemingly taking in every word she said, yet she didn't seem to notice their eyes dashing to her breasts and quickly up again, making them look like they all had ticks. It made me laugh as I watched them all fighting it out for her favor.
Not that I didn't notice different men staring at me too as I passed to pick at this or that food item. The mardi gras mask seemed to have the strange effect of making me the exotic mystery woman. I was the female Count of Monte Cristo...Different Men stopped and tried to talk to me, all ages, married or no, but I always said something vague and flitted away, leaving them staring. One of them, I think he was one of Barts' friends from Europe, did not simply allow me to walk away; where I went, he followed. He persistantly insinuated that before the night was over he was going to sleep with me.
Finally he really started to get on my nerves as I stood by the champagne fountain to watch Jory talking to his friends from New York. Where Melodie was, I couldn't say.
The leech was stroking my shoulder, leaning toward me drunkenly, saying all manner of things that I was grateful no one was around to hear. All patience gone, I pushed his hand away roughly.
"Look, there is no way in Hell you're getting into this dress tonight, so run along back to your wife."
He laughed, took a deep draught of his drink, which spilled out of the corners of his mouth and said,
"Fiesty girl. All your abraisive behavior means to me is that you're a hellcat in the bed."
"Pretty big words for a cephlopodic gibbon."
"What?"
"I mean you're an ape with the brain of a squid!"
He smiled, looked off into the crowd, then suddenly advanced close enough for me to smell his liquored breath. I bet if I held a lighter up to his mouth it'd create a fire stream.
"Make any joke you want gattino. You and I both know we're gonna end up pressed together in one of those pretty rooms upstairs."
I began to back away, resisting the urge to spit in his face. His hand shot out and grabbed my arm. I pulled, but his grip tightened. I was about to open my mouth, scream at him and ruin this party, when Jory did something very kind.
"Marceline, there you are," He said, striding toward us. "You promised me a dance, cousin."
He looked directly at the man holding my forearm, and he promptly dropped it, looking Jory up and down, seeing that the latter was several inches taller than he. As Jory ushered me onto the dance floor, I heard him call out,
"Ciao, bella."
I didn't look back, but stared up wonderingly at Jory, who looked back at me, an easy, genuine smile on his face.
"Why did you do that?" I asked.
"You didn't look like you were enjoying yourself. Was I mistaken?"
"No, you weren't. But you may live to regret it."
"Why do you say that?" he said, looking amused.
"I can't dance to save my life. You might be embarassed."
"Anyone with Brazillian blood can dance."
"Maria Maria" by Carlos Santana was being played by the dj when Jory took one of my hands and put it on his shoulder. The other he held in his away from his body. When his other hand went to the small of my back, undreneath the expensive hair extensions, and I felt its' light pressure there, that's when my insides began to quiver.
"Don't think about it." He said, as he began to sway to the music. "Just feel it, it comes from the hips, don't worry about the feet. Like this."
He pressed me to him, so I could feel his hips rocking back and fourth, side to side. I closed my eyes and listened to the music, and as it filled me, I swayed with Jory.
"There you go," he said, pulling away. "You got it! You're a natural."
He held my body, and we rocked and swayed faster, and I realized that my feet were moving in a kind of slow double step without my even telling them to. I smiled excitedly at him and he laughed merrily.
"I have to ask," he said. "How did you cover up your tattoos?"
I shrugged.
"I just got them air brushed, models do it before they shoot, to cover imperfections."
"They did a great job. You know without them, its' like I can really see you."
"Oh. You don't like them. Nobody does."
"I do, I do. I think they're good artwork, it's just I think you hide behind them."
I stared at him. He wasn't looking at me in any special way, he just smiled, his full lips turned upward so pleasingly. I had the urge to kiss him again. I was close enough to do it. Lean forward, tilt my head back, let my hand slide from his shoulder to his neck and brush those bursting lips softly with mine. Just do it. Now he was looking at me with his dark blue eyes half closed, as if he saw everything I was thinking and it pleased him. He was looking at me not as a married man looks at his cousin, but as a man at a party looks at a mysterious masked woman. Probably this was just how the Prince looked at Cinderella. Then the song was over, just like the clock striking twelve, and the spell was broken. He blinked, cleared his throat and drew away from me. He looked away.
"Yuri likes you." he said, looking back at me and nodding his head at someone amidst the party guests. I looked at a handsome young man with sculpted features and recognized him as one of Jory's fellow dancers. He'd been watching us from the buffet. When he saw me looking, he inclined his head slightly in my direction, his eyes full of desire. Looking past him, I saw Bart leading Melodie around, introducing her to his friends as though she were his wife and not Jory's. She was Jory's wife.
"Oh does he?" I said sadly.
"Yeah. You should go talk to him. I'll introduce you if you want."
"You'd better go and rescue your wife." I said, recognizing a note of bitterness in my tone.
"I see her over there. She can handle Bart, but you're probably right."
"Thanks for saving me from the Italian, Jory." I said.
"You're welcome."
I was spared the need to answer by the blast of many trumpets. The entertainment began as Bart's guests seated themselves with plates of food and drinks. Bart and Melodie came to join us, while Cindy and Jory ran to warm up in practice outfits before they changed into elaborate costumes. Marceline was gone, I couldn't see her anywhere. Perhaps she'd gone off with that Italian dignitary I'd seen her talking to. Soon the professional entertainers had me laughing along with everyone else.
What a wonderful party! I glanced often at Chris, at Bart and Melodie, who sat near us. The summer night was perfect. The mountains all around enclosed us in a friendly romantic ring, and I was again amazed that I could see them as anything but formidable barriers to keep freedom forever out of reach. I was happy to see Melodie laughing and most of all, happy to see Bart really having a good time. He shifted his chair closer to mine.
"Would you say my party is a success, mother?"
"Yes, oh, indeed, yes Bart, you've outdone anything I've ever attended. It's a marvelous party. The evening is breathtakingly beautiful, with the stars and moon overhead, and all your colored lights. When does the ballet begin?"
He smiled and put his arm lovingly about my shoulders. His voice was tender with understanding when he asked,
"Nothing for you equals the ballet does it? And you won't be disappointed. You just wait to see if New York or London can equal my production of Samson and Delilah."
Then the loud voices of the comedians ceased and I heard the crowd chittering excitedly. We both looked around at the guests hastily looking at their programs. Then Bart's mouth fell open. For there, in the spot light, Marceline stood with her violin and bow, her head held high, looking at the crowd with the same confident little smile on her face.
"Ladies and Gentleman," she said into the microphone. "I apologize for the break in your regularly scheduled programming. Tonight we have some very special surprise guests for your entertainment. Ladies and Gentleman, may I present myself and the skilled preformers of Cirque Du Soleil!
The was a simultanious "Oooh." all around the stage darkened. The curtain raised and there was nothing but velvety blackness beyond. Then a light came on and a blonde high up on a metal trapeze swing was illuminated. She had a painted doll face and costume reminiscent of Coppelia. She began to swing as the trilling of a violin began.. First the violin, but other music came, electronic, techno music. The combination was surprising and beautiful. The girl, who couldn't have been older than fifteen rocked back and fourth, as colored lights appeared behind her on the wall, shifting kalidoscopically. Then, as the rest of the stage was lit up in eerie blue moonlight, people began to descend on either side of the girl, dressed in elaborate flower costumes that glittered with sequins and rhinestones. As the music soared, the flowers swung side to side, their knees locked around metal bars. At every break in the hauntingly beautiful music, another flower dropped out of thin air to be caught by the other preformer, to gasps and applause. There were three long chains of flowers swinging back and forth as the girl on the swing flipped her body around and around it, swinging front to back. Daisies, roses, pansies, violets, lilies, and tulips swung back and forth in the artificial windstorm created by the girl and her swing. Her eyes were closed and she smiled as if she were imagining something that gave her pleasure. Perhaps she was thinking of boys, and dates, and friends and the world beyond the attic garden. Chris reached for my hand and the colored lights flashed as the music intoned its' melancholy wistful calling. At the songs highest note, the girl, forgetful of the ground below, leapt from the swing, and flew through the air toward the audience!
The stage went black for a split second as everyone gasped, then the lights suddenly snapped on in a firey red color just in time to see a blonde boy doll on another swing stretch out his arms and catch the girl. There was wild applause as the two dolls swung together, their arms clasped. Then as the song slowed, they climbed up to the swing and stood side by side, swinging together and looking into each others' eyes, and seemed unaware of anything beyond themsevles and their secret, forbidden love. The stage lights went out.
I watched the audience' reaction from behind the stage curtain. Everyone clapped and cheered as the acrobats took their bows, but I was searching for Cathy. She was applauding with them, pausing only to wipe her eyes with the back of her hand. Then she and Chris looked at each other for a long time. Bart was clapping too, smiling at his guests as though he'd known all along. He must have been two shades of pale when he first saw me up there.
I felt hands grab my shoulders from behind, and I turned to find Cindy there in full makeup and costume. Jory stood just behind her, giving me a glowing look.
"That was amazing! How did you put all that together without anyone realizing?"
"A magician never reveals his secrets." I said looking back out at the stage again. She laughed. "You guys better get ready, you're on next."
I stowed my violin away and saw Joel on my way out of the back. He had his head tilted up toward the rafters. I was so flushed from my success, I didn't even ask what he was doing there.
As I made my way back through the tables, the party guests all clapped and cat called. I sat down next to Chris.
"I hope you're not mad, Bart." I said, leaning forward. "I wanted to surprise you."
He was taking a sip of drink, and looking at me over the rim of his glass.
"I was at first." He confessed. "But it turned out well, so I forgive you, this time." he smiled at me. It seemed that nothing could bring him down on this day. I suppose his lack of fury was his way of saying thank you.
"Chris, Cathy, what did you think?" I asked.
Cathy smiled at me warmly and Chris leaned forward, with a twinkle in his eye, saying in a low voice,
"I thought your homage to us was very beautiful and heartfelt. Thank you."
We all leaned back to watch the ballet. I sighed with ease. I was exhausted from the stress of preforming publicly for the first time, but there was something peaceful in me at that moment. I finally felt like I belonged.
As the ballet began I was once again absorbed in watching Jory's display of excellence. His muscles shadowed by the stage lights looked divine and I could see in his face that he was devoted to the part. It was as if he truly believed he was Samson. He whirled, he leapt and all the while I could only marvel at him, and allow myself in this moment to be lost in my dreams of him. That is why dreams are such dangerous things. They smoulder on as a fire does and sometimes consume us completely.
Only in the last act did I become afraid. When the impish dwarves dragged Samson out by chains did I really begin to fear for his life. I shook myself, for I had shivered in the warm night. I looked around at everyone's faces. Bart appeared to be on the edge of his seat, and Melodie was looking away, some pained emotion on her face. Chris had his hand to his chin, his brows drawn together, as if he were only watching the ballet analytically. But it was Cathy's expression that really startled me. What was she seeing up there? What had come to put her heart in her eyes like that? They appeared wide blue orbs, shining; wet with moisture that was pooling around her lids. As I watched, a clear bead spilled down her cheek. She was not looking at the stage as a lover of ballet touched by the beauty of a preformance, but as a mother watching her son being led to the electric chair!
I looked back toward the stage thinking that any mother would be alarmed to see her son being treated so brutally even if it was fake. Yes, that had to be it. It was the only explanation. Yet the longer I watched, the more agitated I became. I shifted in my seat, squinting at the stage, for I had the sensation that a soft wind was blowing on my eyes. They felt cold and wet. My heart was pumping madly, my stomach was squirming, my intestines sliding over each other. My palms were wet as Samson stood underneath the columns, pushing, pushing. Then, it was as if a fog lifted and I finally saw it. I knew what was going to happen a split second before it did. Cathy sat up straight and still, as if her chair had been electrified.
The columns in the temple scene toppled, and just before the curtain closed, I saw Jory go down. If Cathy had not leapt to her feet and screamed, I would have thought it was all part of the act. To see Chris's tailcoats whipping wildly as he rushed toward the stage, I was filled with sickening dread. Cathy had sunk to her knees in the grass. Applause thundered even while Bart was lifting his mother's weak form, looking from side to side to see if anyone else had noticed the accident. Then he was half carrying her toward the stage while she raved incoherently, her hand at her throat. Not sure what to do, I trailed behind them, but not before I noticed my grandfather's face. He was standing just behind the table, his face split in a wide cheshire cats' grin, while he clapped his hands slowly with the audience. I scowled at him. He saw me and stopped clapping immeadiately, his smile falling just as if the strings holding it had been cut. He pointed his eyes to the ground.
Whipping around, I ran toward the stage. It was my grandfathers' expression that frightened me the most that night.
Back stage, Jory lay sprawled, face down, blood running over his beautiful body freely. His family and friends were clustered around him like he was already dead. Cathy was on her knees beside him moaning, shaking with grief. Melodie was screaming,
"Jory! Jory! Please don't die!"
My hands were like claws as I threw them to my temples, nails digging in. My eyes grew wide as I stared over the body. The curse! The curse! It's the Curse of Foxworth Hall!
"What did you say?"
Chris was behind me, his face white as a sheet. I hadn't realized I'd spoken aloud. I began to hyperventilate. I stuffed the back of my hand in my mouth as tears came to run over the sides of my mask. I turned away from the body and crouched down like a child to tuck my head into my knees. And I wept.
In no time at all, the ambulance was there as if they'd been standing by, perhaps knowing that Foxworth parties often led to bodily harm.
"Will he live?" I heard Cathy's faint voice even through the chaos.
"Yes he'll live."
That's all I heard before the metal doors of the ambulance clanged shut.
By this time everyone was crowded on the drive, trying to get a look at one of the worlds' greatest dancers. As the ambulance roared off, sirens wailing, people all began to talk at once, and I heard several weeping, probably other dancers. I had stopped crying and my whole face felt like a mask. Cindy was hanging on my shoulder, still in costume, crying quietly. I tilted my head down to touch hers with my cheek. I didn't have any words of comfort for her, because I knew such words were empty. I only patted her shoulder, and rubbed her back, a poor substitute for a mother.
Bart was already restoring order, waving his hands and telling everyone to go back to the gardens, and that Jory had only suffered a mild concussion. One of the young boys came over to hug Cindy around the middle, and gladly she turned from me, nestling her head on his shoulder, while he stroked her back. He began to lead her away, but I grabbed his shoulder. I leaned in to whisper in his ear that if he took advantage of her, I would hand his nuts to him on a silver platter. He looked petrified and assured me that he would do no such thing, nodding his head like a parrot.
After they'd left, I saw the Italian making his way toward me through the retreating crowd. I was ready to flee, but then Yuri was in front of me, asking if I was all right. Without a moments hesitation I threw my arms around his shoulders. I was happy to see the Italian turn away to walk back up the steps.
"I'm sorry." I said to Yuri. "It's just so awful."
"It is all right." he said, in a husky, thick, eastern european accent. "You must forgive me."
"What have you done?" I asked, pulling away from him.
"I haff not been able to take my eyes off you all evening."
Without the slightest inkling of discretion I planted my lips on his and kissed him. He jerked back in surprise, but was soon returning the kiss with all haste. He squeezed my body to his and I felt his passion growing between us. Devoid of all prudence, I led him back to my room and allowed my grief, and my aches of longing to wash over him. His dancers body had pleased me greatly, and several times I had the urge to call out the name "Jory" during our encounter.
Around two thirty the party wound down, and people began to depart in large groups. Bart sat on the front steps, too drunk now to stand and wish his guests goodbye. They waved cheerily and most acted as though nothing had happened. Only the other dancers appeared to have anything at all to say about Jory. They told Bart to give him their love, and he agreed as solumnly as the alchohol would allow. Cindy fervently kissed the young man goodbye, out of sight of Bart of course. Yuri, one of the last to leave, kissed my hand and said,
"You vill call me yah?"
"Of course." I said, smiling. I knew I never would.
I sat down next to Bart and lit his cigarette for him. He couldn't seem to find his lighter. Looking at the bright flame in front of his face he leaned forward and touched the paper to the fire.
"Thanks." he said, then he leaned back and puffed, staring at the roof of the portico. "Pretty good party, don't you think?"
I let out a single laugh.
"Yes." I said. For what else could I say? I could add, "but for the mauling of your brother". When they put Jory in the ambulance he did look like he'd been attacked by a bear, but I didn't want to spoil Bart's day any more than it had been. Somewhere in there, he must be feeling sorrow. I lit my own cigarette.
"Do you think people will only remember Jory's accident?" He asked, in that childish doubting tone again. I was reminded of the terrible night Patrick had died.
"I don't think so. They looked like they enjoyed themselves afterward."
Which was perfectly true. The drunken revelry only escalated after Jory was taken away. Bart stood up on wobbling legs. He looked me up and down with a hazy smile on his face.
"You covered up your tattoos to please me didn't you?"
I half smiled and shrugged, looking at the ground. He returned to his cursed house, humming the tune from my song.