Dad eyed me suspiciously.
"Well, somebody's been busy!" he chided me.
I could do nothing as he
thumbed through the sheaf.
"Nature
Wonder—hmph!—GreenBlog, Wings 'n' Things (what kind of name is that?); oh! Is
this a letter from Genevieve Macon, too?" he snorted. "What do YOU
know about fashion?"
"Dad," I endeavored
to make him see, "These are acceptance letters for some articles and
reviews I wrote; they are going to be posted on their sites and blogs."
"Why should you write for
websites?" Dad grumbled, spitting the word as if it had some distasteful
connotation. "Using email to sell yourself to tabloids and muckrakers—no,
worse!" He pulled a page out of the stack and shoved it in my face,
"According to what it says here, you want to be a blogger? What good is
that? And who is Taylor26Man? He seems to know a lot about you! 'I can't stop
thinking about what you told me last time; your words inspired me'! Are you
seeing somebody, Meredith?"
I'll admit, those words did
seem suspicious when foisted from their context in this way; but the communication
between me and Taylor had always maintained a mutually minimal level, with the
proper constraints of Internet anonymity. How could I make my dad understand?
"I promise you," I
tried to tell him, "I've never met this guy; we only talk business. He doesn't
even know which state I live in, nor my real name. I'm not seeing him. We have
never once seen each other."
My dad still scoffed,
"You've never seen him? Why are you writing to him, then? In my day, people wrote letters to people they knew; now my daughter is writing to a perfect stranger?"
"Dad! That's not true and you know it!"
"Okay, then WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
"Dad! That's not true and you know it!"
"Okay, then WHAT ARE YOU DOING?"
Monica interrupted us with a
soft knock on the doorway from Dad's office to the foyer.
"Dinner is ready,"
she announced, smiling at us.
Dad turned away without
glancing my direction.
"Dad," I groaned,
following him toward the dining room. "If you'd let me get a computer for
my apartment in Houston—"
He cut me off. "Out of the
question! Heck, I'm not gonna throw my money after you if you're going to sneak
around behind my back like this! Ellie," His voice was almost a whine as
he handed the sheaf of papers—my e-mails— "look at what your sister has
been doing!"
Ellie snapped them up and
scanned them vengefully. "Fashion!" she gasped at the letter from
Genevieve. My sister sneered at me. "Since when?" She didn't wait for
a reply, but rattled on as we sat down to mango-glazed steak and asparagus tips
made by Monica. "Oh, speaking of, Daddy dearest, I was thinking of getting
a small makeover done tomorrow while I was out shopping, just a little nose
thing, a bit in my forehead, you know—and what do you think, should I go ruddy
or raven?" She pulled at strands of her hair and inspected them closely.
Dad gazed at his oldest
daughter. There was a glint in his eye that expressed his agreement with
everyone who saw our family: Elaine Elliot was the most beautiful person anyone
had ever met. Her sparkling aquamarine eyes that looked like the impossibly
clear water around a tropical island. Her hair that always looked amazing even
in the first thirty seconds after she sits up in bed. (We shared a room till
she was ten; I would know). Ellie never seemed to get pimples, she never had
chicken pox, her skin was flawless, her lips full and soft—I didn't wonder why
my sister didn't look at me if she could help it. She was so perfect, I might
as well be invisible. Phoebe—my "second mother" who stepped in after
Mom died—always said I looked like my mother, but if that was true, Dad
probably married her for her social status, not her beauty. I had tiny
pockmarks from a violent case of the chicken pox when I was seven, I had
dull-blonde hair that was so dull that highlights looked like a bad dye job, I had
eyes the color of mud, my lips were always dry, my hair was always frizzy and
looked like a rabid ferret in the mornings—I would guess that either Ellie
couldn't pick me out of a crowd, even with her amazing eyes, or perhaps she was
afraid that my plainness was contagious. I know I would believe it.
Dad picked his fork up and
speared another bite."I think—"
Ellie tossed a manicured hand,
"Oh, you don't have to give an answer right away, I can hear about it
tomorrow. Say, are we doing anything this weekend?"
Dad shook his head. "I
don't think so."
Ellie smiled, "Let's all
go to the movies! There's this new Confessions movie coming out and I
practically promised Penelope that we'd be there."
Penelope Sharpe was Ellie's
most devoted sycophant. She was the aged, spinster daughter of Dad's legal
advisor.
Dad mulled over Ellie's
decision as he chewed a bite of steak. "Well, I guess it won't be too
bad," he acquiesced.
"Of course not!"
Ellie gave one of her musical titters. "We can go to Suga's for dinner and
catch a cab out to Hollywood Theaters."
Suga's was a Deep-South cuisine
in the opposite direction from the theaters. "Why not eat dinner somewhere
closer to the theater?" I suggested.
Ellie frowned without turning
in my direction. "We'll be close!" she insisted. "Besides, there
are only cheap, dirty places near the theater. You want to eat at Fuddruckers,
Meredith?" She finally turned to me, grimacing with pure derision.
I couldn't hold her gaze, I
picked at my plate, "I was just thinking someplace like that Japanese
grill."
Ellie snorted, "Whatever;
Monica already confirmed reservations at Suga's for five o'clock on
Friday."
"Have you booked the
theater yet?" Dad asked.
Ellie turned to him with a
smile. "Private showing in Theater 9 at 8:30."
Dad patted her hand.
"That's my girl!"
I knew if Ellie was getting
Penelope along, I could probably use reinforcements, someone in my favor.
"If Ellie's bringing Penelope along, can I tell Phoebe and invite
her?" I asked.
Dad wouldn't take his eyes off
my sister. "Whatever you want, Meredith."
Yeah, right! How about another
life? I left the table and went into the office. I called Phoebe and told her
about the movie Friday night.
"Oh, that sounds like so
much fun!" Trust Phoebe to put a positive spin on things.
"It will be if you're
there with me," I commented, "There doesn't seem to be anybody else
on my side anymore."
"Now honey," Phoebe
reprimanded me gently, "it's a family, not a debate! Your father just has
a different way of expressing himself."
"I just wonder if things
would be different if Mom were still around."
"Now honey, you always say
that." Phoebe sighed. "Though, I'll have to agree with you. Anna was
the best thing to ever happen to your father." She clicked her tongue, but
continued in a brighter tone, "All that aside, how are you, Mer? It's been
days since we have been able to chat."
I sighed, mentally laying the
topic of my mother aside; another day, perhaps.
"I'm doing all right,
Phoebe."
"Houston treating you
well?"
I twisted the phone cord around
my fingers, enmeshing them in the slick spiral. "Oh, always; the Grahams
are really sweet, and my coworkers arenice people."
"What's the nightlife
like?" If ever there were a signature query for a person, this would be
Phoebe Russell's. Widowed at a relatively young age by a man who held a fortune
in diamond mines, Phoebe had a very celebrity-esque capacity all to herself.
But she would never be the sort to spend it all on herself; Phoebe was so
selfless that the only thing she wanted to do with her inherited fortune was to
find someone to share it with. What better way to find such an opportunity than
spending most nights on the town looking for it?
But I was not that kind of
person in the least. "I wouldn't know," I answered, "I don't go
out much."
"Oh, Meredith!" Phoebe
had always been convinced that a burgeoning social life was the key to
unlocking lifelong commitment. "You should, you know; how will you ever
expect to find your soulmate if he can't even tell that you exist?"
I heard the dinner conversation
dwindle, and I knew Dad and Ellie were already whispering and making
"offhand" comments about how long I was spending on the phone. I
seized the chance to avoid having to talk about relationships with Phoebe; it
was still a sore spot between us since the day she had asked me to consider
breaking it off with my first-ever boyfriend.
"I have to go," I
told her, leaving her question unanswered. "See you Friday!"
"All right; thanks,
Meredith."
I returned to the table.
Ellie's eyes were glued to her plate, and Dad would only give me a split-second
glance.
"So…" I tried to
break the awkward silence, "what were you guys—"
Dad pulled out one of the
e-mails, his face livid as he read the sender.
"Meredith Georgianna
Elliot," he spluttered, "What in Sam Hill is this?"
I winced; it was a letter from
CLEAN Houston, an environmental group that had hosted an essay contest a while
back; this letter communicated their acceptance of my essay for consideration,
not necessarily that I was in cahoots or anything.
"Dad, it's not what you
think—"
"Not what I think?
Meredith, do you know what these people have done to us, what they've cost us?
The least you could do is keep out of their way out of loyalty to this family!
If I had known you would immediately go crawling to the one organization that
is responsible for the sale of family lands in Houston, I would have never let
you move there!"
"I didn't go
crawling—"
"Yeah?" Ellie cut in,
"I'll bet you flounced in with your head held high, is that it?"
"I would never—"
"No, you're right, you
wouldn't!" Dad rejoined. "My own daughter, completely disregarding
everything this family has worked for!"
"Dad, that's not
true!"
"Let's face it, dad,"
Ellie sighed melodramatically, "Meredith has always been a rebel, even
since her Academy days; remember how she managed to hook up with the one
student in environmental studies at Upton?"
Fred.
Her word cut me to the quick;
studies aside, I had admired Fred Winston for his genuine concern for others,
his earnestness and commitment to educating and equipping himself for a greater
purpose than himself. Such a perspective was refreshing among the "legacy
elite" students of Upton Academy who thought the world revolved around
them. Now I was a rebel for liking him?
"Ah, yes, the scholarship
kid," Dad's voice was laden with scorn. "The one who tried to
undermine me by giving you all sorts of gadgets—"
"It was a PDA he'd built
himself," I didn't have the strength to protest very loudly anymore.
"Not that there would be anything wrong with a cell phone."
"You know good and well
why I don't allow cell phones, Missy!" Dad snapped. "You've got no
use for those things. Computers are meant for working at a desk, not frittering
your time away. A generation that spends its time staring at a screen instead
of interacting with each other and actually learning will be a generation of
idiots!"
"Be it never said that the
Elliots are idiots!" Ellie chimed in, with a pointed stare at me. I shook my head; only last week I had an earful from this same sister when Dad had refused to get her the same smartphone her friends had; now she was playing the good daughter.
That was the way of the skeptical Elliot household: Cell phones and personal
computers were a waste of time; smartphones made you stupid; handheld
electronics were a new form of cultural indoctrination; these were the
arguments my dad regularly brought up, and nothing we ever said could dissuade
him. When Cassie had married into the incredibly-connected Mangrove family,
they had gotten her a cell phone, and it was her defiance that prompted the
purchase of wireless handsets for the house on Mangrove Row. But since she was
the first and only married daughter, and his only hope for grandchildren, Dad
held his tongue. Under his own roof—and the others he owned—however, it was a
different matter.
I stood, "I need to get on
home," I said, clearing my plate from the table.
"Take your contraband with
you," Dad nodded to the pile of emails on the table.
By the time I left, Dad and
Ellie were back to talking about celebrities and fashion and gossip. I waved to
Monica as I pulled away.
I pulled into the lot in front
of my apartment, fully drained of any spark. I crept through the bookstore and
up the stairs at the back to my tiny living space. It wasn't much, but it felt
more like home than the sprawling mansion ever did.
I settled on my bed, but the
memories of Fred were too much. I knew it would be a long time before I finally
fell asleep.
>>>>>>>>>>>>
Also from "Merely Meredith":
-Introducing The Elliots
- Dinner with the Elliots
-"A Chance To Love" by Meredith Elliot
-Presenting Mrs. Cassandra Marianne Elliot Mangrove... The Great
-Charlie's Return
-Encounter in the Library
-The Runaway Steed
-Ellie's Date
-The Incident At Port O'Connor
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