Your mother does have a point, Princess, my father agreed as he munched on his prime rib.
You asked me what I meant when I said I was a Golgothamite, I replied, as I placed my handiwork down in the middle of the table. Its far easier for me to show you.
I reached out to my creation, just as I had with the clockwork dragon, and felt the familiar spark of connection. Suddenly my ungainly little tableware horse began moving forward under its own steam across the tabletop, although the cocktail fork did result in giving it a pronounced limp.
My father dropped the roll he was buttering onto the floor, along with the knife he was using. To his credit, Clarence promptly retrieved the fallen utensil without batting an eye. My mother squealed in horror and threw her napkin at the thing stumping toward her, knocking it over. The horse lay on its side, its mismatched legs still moving, like those of a tipped turtle trying to regain purchase. Although I will admit to taking a certain satisfaction in freaking my mother out, I was genuinely surprised when she suddenly burst into tears and leapt up from the table, fleeing the room. I jumped up and hurried after her, leaving my father to poke at the now-lifeless construct with his own fork.
* * *
I found my mother in the conservatory. As unlikely as it seems, she has always had a green thumb. But where other ladies who lunch make a hobby out of cultivating orchids or tending bonsai gardens, her passion was container gardeningtomatoes, zucchini, squash, various peppers, cucumbers, even watermelons. Indeed, most of the vegetables that graced the family table were grown on the premises. But not only was her penthouse vegetable garden her hobby; it also served as my mothers private refuge.
She was sitting in a wicker plantation chair, between the beefsteak tomatoes and the snap peas, daubing at the tears in her eyes with a tissue as she struggled to regain her composure.
Momare you all right? I asked gently. I really didnt mean to scare you like that.
Im okay, she said between sniffles. I guess I should have known this day would come. After all, magic has its price. But I never thought the price would be you.
I frowned in confusion. What are you talking about?
She heaved a deep sigh that seemed almost to deflate her. All of this is my fault. I brought it upon myself and on you.
Mom, youre not making any sense. . . .
Im a complete fraud, you know, she announced matter-of-factly. A complete and utter fraud. Have been from the start. She looked at me appraisingly. Do you know where I was born?
Sure; in Philadelphia.
Oh, I was born in Pennsylvania, all right! she said with a humorless laugh. But not in Philly. I was actually born in rural Lancaster County, deep in Pennsylvania Dutch country, on a Mennonite farm.
I blinked in surprise. Although my maternal grandparents had died long before I was born, I was fairly familiar with their family history. I thought Grandfather Bieler owned a textile company.
My mother smiled ruefully. The closest my father came to textiles was the wool on the sheep he raised. I was the fourth of their seven childrenyes, thats right. Im not an only child, either. You have aunts and uncles and rafts of cousins Ive never told you about, most of them still in Lancaster County, I suppose.
The farm I grew up on wasnt big, but it wasnt that small, either. The boys helped Father work the fields, while the girls kept the house and tended the livestock. Every morning before school I had to milk the goat and feed the chickens and then, when I got home, I had to muck out the horse stalls. And I hated every minute of it. The goats would try to butt me, the chickens would peck at me, and the horses were always trying to step on my feet. I promised myself that when I grew up, I would make sure I never had to look at the wrong end of a mule for the rest of my life.
Your parentsmy grandparentsare they still alive? I asked hopefully.
Im afraid not, she replied, with a shake of her head. My father died a couple years after I ran away when a tractor rolled over on him. My mother died of cancer, not long before you were born.
They were good people, I supposebut uneducated. Neither of them had graduated from high school. My mother was fifteen when she married my father and sixteen when she started popping out kids. I never really knew her that wellshe was always either pregnant or tired. I wasnt particularly close to any of my siblings, eitherI was the only one of the litter who had dreams of doing something besides working on a farm or marrying a farmer. I wanted bigger, better things than that, and was determined to escape the first chance I got. So I ran away from home when I was seventeen. I wanted to go to New York City and become a dancer on Broadway. It took some doing, but I eventually got there.
My jaw dropped in surprise. You were a showgirl?
I realize Im your mother, but you dont have to look that incredulous, she chided. Yes, I was a showgirland a damn good one, too. I could line-kick with the best of em, and in high heels, no less. She paused to study me for a moment. Did I ever tell you how your father and I first met?
Sure, I replied automatically. It was at the after-party for the Mets staging of Rossinis Cinderella. . . .
It was at an after-partybut for A Chorus Line, not the opera. It was being held out in the Hamptons, and one of the producers of the show I was in asked me to be his date. He was queer as a three-dollar bill, of course, but he would bring me along as arm candy, for appearances sake. When we got there, I realized the mansion was full of younger society typesthe ones who went to Elaines and Studio 54. Everywhere I looked there were glamorous women with pedigrees as long as my arm, dressed in the latest from Paris, and literally dripping with diamonds. I felt like a hick farm girl with hayseeds in my hair and pig shit on my shoes.
The minute we arrived my producer friend dumped me to go fool around with some pretty boy in the pool house. The minute he leaves me alone, this creepy swinger type gloms on to me, trying to chat me up. I must have looked pretty nervous, because the next thing I know, your father walks over and hands me a drink and says, Sorry that took so long. Is this guy bothering you? After the creep hurried off, Timothy apologized for butting in, but said he could tell I needed some help. Then he introduced himself to me and we started talking.
I didnt know who he wasnot at first, anywaybut I could tell he came from money. When he asked me about myself, I panicked and the next thing I know Im telling him my family owns a textile company and that Im visiting from Philadelphia. She shook her head in disbelief at the actions of her younger self. Before I know it, your father is asking me if I wanted to go out to dinner the next time Im in town. I said yes because he was such a gentlemannot like all the other men I knew, who were all hands and tongue.
Mom!
Dont give me that look! she sniffed. Youre not a five-year-old anymore, Timmy. Everyone knows what you have to do to make it onto a Broadway stage.
Once my producer friend was finished amusing himself, he came and gathered me up. On the way back into the city, he asked me if Id made any new friends. And he winked when he said it. When I told him Id met a nice young man named Tim Eresby, he nearly drove off the road! Thats when I realized Id lucked into something really big. But Id also managed to screw myself at the same time.
If I was going to make any headway with him, I was going to have to live the part Id created for myself. But how could I possibly fill my closet with designer clothes and cover myself in jewelry? I was just the third girl from the left in a mediocre revival of a mediocre musical. If I wanted to dress for success, it meant resorting to magic.
I had grown up in a religious family, and the idea of turning to a witch for help was . . . troublesome for me. But I also knew several other people who worked in the theater that had used magic to further their careers, most of whom seemed to have suffered no ill effects from doing it. So I went ahead and picked up the Village Voice and looked through the listings in the back for magical services. I found an ad for a Mistress Syrathats what she called herself back then; none of that Lady nonsensewho specialized in glamours and enchantments, especially the appearance of wealth and social status. Best of all, she made house calls, because, back then, decent people didnt travel to Golgotham unless they couldnt avoid it.
I called the number in the ad, and she showed up at my apartment the very next day. I will admit that I was very impressed when I saw her. She arrived carrying a squarish valise that looked like a salesmans sample case. I told her what my problem was, and she said what I needed was a No-Knickers spell, which would guarantee me the outward appearance of wealth without actually providing me with riches.
She opened up her case and a pair of legs popped out of it, so that she could use it like a table. I could see that it was full of different little vials and canisters. She mixed up a sampler batch of the potion, which she poured into a perfume atomizer, and told me to spray it all over myself, from head to toe, and then count to ten before looking at myself in a mirror.
I did as I was directed, and when I opened my eyes I was amazed by what I saw. I was no longer wearing an off-the-rack dress, but the latest design from Halston, complete with a diamond necklace and matching diamond stud earrings. I made Audrey Hepburn look like a bag lady.
She then instructed me to take my coat out of the closet and put it on. When I did, it turned into a glorious mink stole! I was ecstatic! It was like I was staring at a totally new woman, one who had never gathered eggs and milked goats, and didnt know which end of a shovel was used to muck out a horse stablein fact, she didnt know what muck meant.
Syra told me that while all of this might look realeven feel and smell realit was nothing but an illusion. Once its potency wore off, the glamour would evaporate, leaving me revealed as a pauper. Hence the saying: fur coat and no knickers.
She told me the more I used it, the weaker the spell would become. I was young and desperate, so I went ahead and paid for the spell, and it wasnt long before I was on my way to being a faux heiress.
On my first date with your father, I lied and told him I was staying at the Plaza, because I didnt want him to see the apartment building I was living in. It was definitely not the kind of place where one would expect an heiresseven one from Phillyto be staying. An hour before he was supposed to pick me up, I took a cab to the Plaza and hung around in the lobby, waiting for your father to come collect me. I must have looked like I belonged, because no one asked me what I was doing there.
So how was your first date? I asked, intrigued by this secret history of my parents meeting and courtship.
It was wonderfulyour father took me to this charming little Italian place called Mama Rosas, and then we went to Xenon over on Forty-third and danced for hours. Why are you gaping at me like that, child?
Im just having a hard time picturing you and Dad boogieing down at a disco, thats all, I admitted.
What did you think we were doing back thendancing minuets? It was the seventies, darling! Now, where was I? Ah, yes! We ended by going for coffee at an all-night diner, and then your father dropped me back off at the Plaza. He was gentleman enough not to expect an invitation to my roomwhich was a good thing, considering. Once he left, I came back out of the hotel and caught a cab downtown.
The very next day your father called and asked me out again. Soon we were seeing each other twice a week, then three. It wasnt long before I ran out of the No-Knickers spray. I called Mistress Syra for a refill. She returned and made a new batch for me, but this time it cost twice as much as before! She said it was because she had to increase the glamours potency, since I was using it so often. I wasnt thrilled by the price hike, but what else could I do?
However, I started noticing something different about the spell. When I first started using it, a single application would last for six to eight hours. But now it was wearing off after only four. One night, when we were at the Russian Tea Room, I left the table wearing Diane von Furstenberg and an emerald necklace, only to arrive in the ladies room dressed in J. C. Penney and costume jewelry. Luckily, I was carrying the atomizer in my purse, so I was able to reapply the glamour in one of the stalls. Your father and I had been seeing one another for three months by the time the second atomizer ran dry. When I called Mistress Syra about a refill, the price was even higher than before. The musical Id been dancing in had closed by that point, and I was living off crackers and tomato soup made from hot water and ketchup. The only thing I owned I could use as payment was a platinum and ruby tennis bracelet Timothy gave me as a token of his affection. It was the first real jewelry Id ever owned. But I had no choiceif I didnt pay what she asked, Timothy would discover I was worse than a fraud. So I gave the bracelet to Syra.
The third bottle of No-Knickers spray was twice as strong as the previous one, but its staying power was eroding even faster. Where once a single spritz had been good for most of the evening, now I was forced to keep ducking into the ladies room to reapply my glamour, for fear of the illusion dissolving in the middle of nightclubbing.
Your father and I had been dating for nearly six monthsand I will admit, when we first started seeing one another, I had dollar signs in my eyes. But as I got to know him, I found myself falling in love with him. He was far kinder and sweeter than any man Id ever known, and not just because he was looking to get in my pants. He was considerate to everyone he met, from nightclub impresarios to the hatcheck girl. He was also smart, funny, a good dancer, and an excellent lover. . . .
Mom! Ick! Too much information!
Honestly, Timmy, she said, patting her hair to make sure it was still in place, something she did whenever she was embarrassed. You know damn well your generation didnt invent premarital sex! Anyway, one evening your father and I went to a charity gala for some museum or hospital, I suppose. Anyway, we were ballroom dancing and I was enjoying myself so much, I completely lost track of time. Then I looked down and realized I was no longer wearing Chanel, but an off-the-rack shift from Filenes Basement, and my matching pearl necklace and earrings had turned back into cheap paste knockoffs!
I looked into Timothys eyes and I saw surprise, then confusion. The couples closest to us were openly snickering. Although I was fully clothed, Id never been any more naked than I was at that moment. I had been revealed as a No-Knickers, and now they knew I wasnt one of them. I bolted from the dance floor and fled the building. Timothy and I had arrived at the ball in a chauffeured limousine, but there I was, running off into the night on foot all by myself. I ended up taking the subway back to my neighborhood.
I was so devastated; I was crying so hard I couldnt see. The man I loved now knew the woman he thought he had been courting for the last six months didnt truly exist, and that I had lied to him about who and what I was. Id had a chance at landing my very own Prince Charming, only to fail in the most spectacularly humiliating way imaginable. I returned to my dismal little studio apartment and didnt go outside for two days.
Then, on the third day, there was a knock on my door. I was sure it was the landlord, wanting to know where his rent was. But when I opened the door, instead of the landlord, I saw your father standing there, holding a huge bouquet of flowers! Hed tracked me down by talking to the producer who had taken me to the after-party. He told me he didnt care if I was rich or pooras long as I was me. But once he returned home, my insecurity got the better of me again. I began to worry that his parents might pressure him into marrying someone with more social standing.
So I made one last call to Mistress Syra. I didnt have much in the way of money, but I figured since I had grossly overpaid her with the tennis bracelet, I might have a little leeway. I told her I wanted a love potion; one that would make me the unquestioned queen of Timothys heart. The love potion she crafted was odorless and colorless, perfect for being slipped into food or drink, and I put it in his champagne while he wasnt looking.
I am not proud of what I didin fact, I regretted doing it within moments of pouring it in his glass. But there was no going back, and I was genuinely terrified of losing him. Not so much to another woman, mind you, but to his sense of responsibility to his family. If your father is anything, hes a dutiful Eresby. That very night he proposed to me. It should have been the happiest moment of my life, but it seemed so terribly hollow. It was like I had won a long distance marathon by cheating at the last mile.
But what really worried me was the fact the love potion, like all magic, would eventually wear off. Of course I could always buy another vial and dose him again, but I had learned my lesson from the No-Knickers spell. I knew Id end up paying a fortune every other week for potions of ever-decreasing strength.
I decided the best plan would be for me to steer clear of any more magic and simply make myself indispensable to your father. I thought that if I became the perfect high-society wife, he might stay married to me once the potion wore off, or even fall in love with me for real. So I threw myself into doing all the things expected of me: organizing charity balls, lunching with the right ladies, and keeping myself a size twoand I havent stopped since.
And did it? Wear off, that is? I asked, although I wasnt sure I wanted to know the answer.
I dont know, she admitted. In the thirty-five years weve been married, your fathers feelings for me have not changed in the least. That just means every morning I wake up wondering if this is the day Ill find him looking at me as if I was a stranger.
She paused for a moment and when she looked at me her face softened and lost its usual reserve, which I had come to view as its default expression. Up until a half hour ago, I thought my mother was just another socialite with a drinking problem who spent her life doing nothing but shopping, gossiping, and dieting, but now I was seeing a whole different person I had never dreamed existed.
Im sorry I havent been the mother I should have been to you, Timmy. I was so busy imitating the high-society women around me in order to fit in, I copied all their failings, too. Part of me has always been . . . distant toward you, through no fault of your own. Perhaps its because I was never close to my own mother, or because Im unsure whether you were conceived in loveor something else. Whatever the reason, its no excuse for me handing you over to others to raise. She suddenly leaned forward and grasped my forearm, clutching it tightly, like a drowning woman grabbing the hand of a rescuer. It was the closest she had come to hugging me in years. I know I dont show it the way I should, but never, ever doubt for a moment that I love you, Timmy. I have everything I ever dreamed of when I was candling eggs and milking goats on my parents farm: a rich husband, a wonderful home, fast cars and fashionable clothes, and a beautiful and talented daughter. But I got it through trickery, and now Im paying the price through my child.
MomI dont know what to say, I said, shaking my head in amazement. I had no idea. . . .
Of course you didnt. What mother wants to admit that she cheated her way into marriage? Or that she let her own insecurity get in the way of raising her child? Much less that her dabbling in magic has turned her only daughter into a . . . a . . .
Weirdo? I suggested helpfully. Mom, youve got to stop beating yourself up over this. My magic powers have nothing to do with whatever potions you swallowed or spritzed on yourself, decades ago. I know for a fact that Im not the only human in Golgotham who has been affected. Im not a hundred percent sure why Im able to do magic now, but I do know that none of this is your fault.
My mother smiled and gave a half laugh and half sob as she daubed at the tears returning to her eyes.
And, Mom? I like this story of how you and Dad met a lot better than the old one.
Thank you for saying that, sweetheart. Your father and I will always love you, no matter what, but, I beg you, never bring the silverware to life again. We have to eat with those things.
* * *
As I headed back to my room, I kept thinking about everything my mother had said. It was the first time in our shared lives that she had spoken to me as a fellow adult, instead of a child. The mythology of my childhood had been blown apart, but, to my surprise, I was cool with it. So my textile tycoon grandfather didnt really existbig deal. I never met him in the first place. But now I know where my artistic streak came frommy ex-showgirl mother! It almost made up for the news that the only reason my father asked her to marry him was because she slipped him a love potion.
As I prepared to go to bed, there was a knock on the door, and a second later my father stuck his head into the room. Are you decent?
About as much as Ill ever be, I replied with a laugh.
He stepped into the room and sat down on the corner of the bed beside Beanie, who was sound asleep and snoring like a buzz saw. Does he always sound like that? He frowned.
If you think thats bad, just wait until he starts breaking wind, I chuckled. Is something wrong, Dad?
Cant a father check in on his daughter and see how shes doing? he protested.
Im okay, I guess. Im just feeling a bit dazed and glazed right now, I admitted. Its been a long, stressful twenty-four hours.
Im pleased that you and your mother were able to talkand without any shouting, I might add.
I studied him for a long moment, uncertain whether to say anything. Growing up, I had wondered why he always allowed my mother to have her way, no matter what it might be. Now it all seemed to make sense.
Dadhow would you feel if everything you thought was real turned out to be an illusion?
So I take it your mother finally got around to telling you about how we met, he said with a laugh. Did she also tell you about how she slipped a love potion into my champagne?
You know about that?
Of course! he replied. Im one of the richest men in the world! And back then I was one of the most eligible bachelors in this, or any, country! I was always getting dosed with love potions and having Come Hithers cast over me by gold diggers. Thats why I always wore counter-charms and carried antidotes on my person at all times.
You mean Mom didnt bewitch you?
Oh, Im under her spellbut it has nothing to do with magic! he laughed. I was enchanted by your mother the first time I laid eyes on her. Shes an amazing woman, you know that? Shes a real firecracker, and isnt afraid to speak her mind and stand up for what she believes in. You and she are a lot alike. I suspect thats why you two are always butting heads. Unfortunately, I fear shes reliving some unresolved issues she had with her parents through you, especially in regard to your decision to become an artist. I know she hated quitting the stage to marry mebut my parents insisted on it. Thats why shes such a passionate fund-raiser for the ballet, you know.
If youre not spellbound, why havent you told her yet? Shes spent years waiting for you to come to your senses and replace her with some bimbo who looks like a pool toy.
And lose what little leverage I have in the relationship? he exclaimed. Are you nuts?
* * *
After my father bid good night and kissed me on the forehead, I changed into my nightclothes and climbed into bed. It was far bigger and much more comfortable than Nessies living room couch, but it was also just as cold and lonely. My only consolation, as I drifted off into a troubled sleep, was knowing I, like my child, had been conceived in love. Granted, a weird, fucked-up kind of lovebut love nonetheless.
Chapter 23
How did you sleep, dear? my mother asked, as she spread marmalade on her English muffin.
Okay, I guess, I replied, as I eyed the plate of bacon and eggs Clarence set before me. Im afraid Im not used to the sound of traffic in the streets anymore. Its going to take some readjusting.
Have you seen an obstetrician? Or were you simply relying on witch doctors for your prenatal care?
Despite my mothers recent decision to treat me as an adult, I didnt see any point in testing her resolution by revealing that Id left Golgotham because Hexe had stolen money I needed for a prenatal exam. Well, I have a friend who practices traditional Chinese medicine. . . .
I suspected as much, she said, setting down her knife. So I took the liberty of booking you an appointment with my gyno, Dr. Blumleinhes also an obstetrician. Youll love himhe warms his hands before he does his exam.
Thats very thoughtful of you, I said, the image of my mother with her feet in gyno stirrups now seared into my minds eye. So much for breakfast . . .
* * *
Dr. Blumleins practice was in a state-of-the-art office building on East Seventy-second Street, within easy reach of Prada, Frédéric Malle, and Swiftys. When my mother and I arrived, we entered a tastefully appointed reception room with nicer furniture than most people have in their homes and were greeted by a pleasantly smiling woman who only glanced at my tattoos and eyebrow piercing once as she entered my information into a computer. After that was taken care of, I was handed over to a second, equally pleasant woman dressed in nurses whites, who escorted me to an examination room, leaving my mother to her own devices.
I changed out of my street clothes into a smocklike garment, and the nurse took my medical history and drew a blood sample. She then handed me a little plastic cup with a screw-on lid and pointed me to the bathroom at the end of the hall. Once that was taken care of, I was returned to the examination room, where I sat on the paper-wrapped exam table, staring at a laminated poster depicting cutaway views of a gestating womb during the various stages of pregnancy.
There was a polite rap on the door as the nurse reappeared, this time in the company of a dapper middle-aged man dressed in a white lab coat with a stethoscope looped about his neck. He had a nice smile and kind eyes, and seemed exactly the sort of man my mother and her high-society friends would trust to look at their hoo-has on a regular basis.
Good afternoon, Ms. Eresby, he said, flashing me a welcoming smile. My name is Dr. Blumlein. Ill be looking after you and your baby from here on. As the nurse busied herself with preparing the room for my pelvic exam, he glanced down at the clipboard he was carrying. It says here that you are in your eighteenth week.
Thats correct.
He gave me a dubious look. Are you certain?
I might be off a week in either direction, I admitted. But Im in the general ballpark.
I see, he grunted, jotting something down on the clipboard. I understand that this is your first prenatal exam? I realize youre young, but there are risk factors in all pregnancies. You dont want to gamble with your babys health, do you? he chided. I see that youre twenty-six. And the father? Hes?
Kymeran.
The gynecologists smile abruptly blinked off. I was asking his age.
Sorry, my mistake. Hes thirty, I replied.
The pelvic exam and pap smear proved to be as awkward, uncomfortable, and tedious as all such exams tend to be, landing somewhere between a getting-my-teeth-cleaned and changing-the-oil-in-my-car on the Necessary Evil scale.