Cutler 01 - Dawn

walked in slowly and found her seated at her vanity table, brushing her golden hair and gazing admiringly at herself in the oval mirror. For a long moment she didn't realize I had entered. She was too entranced in her own image. Finally she realized I was standing there staring at her, and she spun around on her stool.
    She was dressed in a light blue negligee, but as usual she had on earrings, a necklace, and bracelets. She had been making up her face and wore lipstick, rouge, and eyeliner.
    "Oh, Dawn, you frightened me, sneaking in like that. Why didn't you knock? Even though I'm your mother, you've got to learn to knock," she said reproachfully. "Women my age need their privacy respected, Dawn honey," she added and put on her friendly smile that now looked more like a mask to me.
    "Aren't you afraid Grandmother will hear you call me Dawn and not Eugenia?" I demanded. She looked more closely at me and saw the angry gleam in my eyes. It unnerved her quickly, and she put her brush down and turned around to get up to go to her bed.
    "I'm not feeling too well this morning," she murmured as she crawled over her silk sheets. "I hope you don't have any new problems."
    "Oh, no, Mother. All my problems are old ones," I announced, moving closer. She looked up at me curiously and then pulled her blanket over her body and fell back against her fluffy pillows.
    "I'm so tired," she said. "It must be this new medication my doctor has prescribed. I'm going to have to have Randolph call him and tell him it's making me too tired. All I want to do is sleep, sleep, sleep. You'll have to leave and let me close my eyes."
    "You weren't always like this, Mother, were you?" I asked sharply. She didn't say anything; she kept her eyes closed and her head on the pillow. "Were you, Mother? Didn't you used to be quite a lively young lady?" I asked, stepping up to the bed. She opened her eyes and blazed a wild look at me.
    "What do you want? You're acting so strange. I don't have the strength. Go see your father if you have a problem. Please."
    "Where shall I find my father?"
    "What?"
    "Where do I go to find him, my father?" I asked in a sweet, musical voice. "My real father."
    She closed her eyes and lay back again.
    "In his office, I'm sure. Or in his mother's office. You shouldn't have any problem locating him." She waved a hand dismissively.
    "Really? I would have thought it would be very hard to find my father. Wouldn't I have to go running about from hotel to hotel, nightclub to nightclub, listening to entertainers?"
    "What?" She opened her eyes again. "What are you talking about?"
    "I'm talking about my real father . . . finally my real father. The one by the pool."
    My remark had hit home. I savored the look of unease creeping into her face. For once I wasn't the one who had to answer about the past. I wasn't the one made to feel ashamed. She was.
    She stared at me uncomprehendingly and then brought her hands to her bosom.
    "You don't mean that Mr. Longchamp? You're not still calling him your father, are you?" I shook my head. "Well, what are you talking about? I can't take this." Her eyelids fluttered. "It's making me feel very faint."
    "Don't pass out before you tell me the truth, Mother," I demanded. "I won't leave your side until you do anyway. That I promise."
    "What truth? What are you babbling about? What have you been told now? Who have you been speaking to? Where's Randolph?" She gazed at the door as if he were right behind me.
    "You don't want him here," I said. "Unless it's time he knew it all. How could you give me up?" I asked quickly. "How could you let someone take your baby?"
    "Let . . . someone?"
    I shook my head in disgust.
    "Were you always this weak and self-centered? You let her force you to give me up. You made your bargain—"
    "Who's been filling you with these lies?" she demanded with a surprising burst of energy.
    "No one's been filling me with lies, Mother. I have just come from talking with Mrs. Dalton." Her angry scowl wilted. "Yes, Mrs. Dalton, who was my nurse, whom you said Grandmother blamed. You just wanted to shift the blame to someone else. If Grand-mother blamed her, why did she give her a year's salary? And why was she rehired to care for Clara Sue?
    "There's no sense trying to think of another lie to cover that one," I added quickly when I saw her start to speak. It was better to keep her on her toes. On the defense before she could gather her wits and retaliate with more lies. "Mrs. Dalton's very