Page 6

Amou was the only one I dared tell. I did it in the form of a question, of course.

"Do you think I'm getting pretty. Amou?" I asked her one afternoon in the kitchen. I liked helping her prepare dinner.

She stopped what she was doing and looked at me with that soft smile on her lips that I had grown to think of as my true sunlight.

"It's like you've been wearing a child's mask and slowly, slowly, it's disappearing and you be coming out. But don't be staring at yourself all day." she warned. "Worst thing a woman can do is fall in love with herself before a good man do. You know what happens then?" she added, leaving the answer floating around us like the whispers of ghosts. I knew she was talking about my A.M., of course.

And about young women like Margaret Selby Delray, despite the roundness in her face that betrayed her self-indulgence and kept her from being attractive. Her softness came from being spoiled and waited upon hand and foot. Her hips were a little too wide, and she had these puffy little fingers, swollen under the glitter of her expensive rings. Her lips always looked swollen and uneven, and her eyes, although an attractive hazel, seemed in retreat because of her plump cheeks.

But there was no limit to what she and her mother would spend on her coiffure, her wardrobe, and her cosmetics. From her early teen years until now, everything she did and everything her mother had done to and for her was designed for one purpose: to find her a suitable husband, even to the extent of sending her to charm school. Their planning and conniving had apparently worked, for she was now engaged to marry Ashley Standard Roberts, the son of the publisher of the Charleston Times. I had not met him. but I had seen their picture in the social pages of the newspaper.

They looked more like brother and sister to me, both at least ten to fifteen pounds overweight, he with that born-with-a-silver-spoon-in-his-mouth look that suggested the most difficult thing he had to do every day was get himself out of his king-size bed and go to the bathroom. There was surely someone around to help him choose his clothes, clean up after him, and chauffeur him through the world as if he were here simply to visit and taste hors d'oeuvres.

"Willow!" Margaret Selby called and waved to me emphatically even though she was directly in my sight. Maybe she was afraid I wouldn't recognize her in her Fendi quilted black skirt suit and velvet hat in winter white. It had taupe satin trim and a swooping brim and would make her stand out in any crowd, As I drew closer. I saw she had gained a few more pounds. In fact, the outfit fit her shoulders too tightly and looked as if it would take Superman to pull her arms out of the suit jacket.

Couldn't she see how foolish she looked? I wondered. Margaret worshiped expensive clothing but really had no sense of style. I thought.

We hugged.

"I didn't expect to find you here," I said. I didn't mean it in any mean way. I simply never anticipated she would be concerned.

"You know how my mother is. She hates facing any unpleasantness alone and simply insisted I go along-- not that I can do much of anything but sit and twist my hands. And I do have so much to do for my upcoming wedding," she concluded with a pout designed to draw out my sympathy.

"How's my father?" I asked dryly.

"Oh. Nothing's new that I know about since I left the hospital to meet you."

"What do you know?"

She slumped. "Let's see." she said as we started out. "He was at home, not actually in the house, but returning from one of those famous constitutionals of his. Mother calls them that. although I don't have any idea why a walk resembles a government document." she inserted, "Do you have any luggage to get?" she asked before I could explain.

"No, no," I said. This is all I brought, I left in a terrible hurry, obviously.'

"Oh, right. Of course. You have things at home to wear. I'm sure."

"I'm not worried about what I'll wear. Margaret. What else do you know about my father's condition?"

"What else? Oh. So he was walking toward the house when he apparently collapsed. Fortunately, Miles... is that his name, your father's housekeeper?"

"Yes. yes."

How many years would it take for her to remember his name? People like my cousin selected their memories with snobbery, conveniently forgetting anyone or anything they considered beneath them.

"So funny having a man for a housekeeper. Mania says he does your father's laundry, cleans and cooks for him now. too."

"Miles has been with my father for nearly twenty. years," I said. "He's not really just his housekeeper. He's been his driver and cared for the property all that time, looking after the grounds, doing maintenance. I think by now it would no longer be a novelty."

"Right," she said. "But wasn't he a former patient of his?" she whispered.

"Margaret. please. What else happened to my father?"

"Oh, Miles looked out a window and saw him lying on the ground and rushed out to him. He called for paramedics, who claimed they revived your father, and then they got him to the hospital. Miles called my mother, and we just put everything down and came rushing here. We had to cancel at least a half dozen appointments-- caterers, flower people, you know."

She laughed, a very loud cackle for someone who was supposed to be so ladylike. I thought.

"Whenever I complain about all the work I have to do planning my own wedding. Ashley says we should just elope. Can you imagine if we did? How many people would be disappointed? Hundreds. He's not serious, of course. He just likes to tease me.

"Mother says that shows he really cares about me. Men like to tease the women they love. It's a form of genuine affection." she declared with a single nod to serve as punctuation to mark the absolute. irrefutable truth.