Chet Williamson - Reign

When the woman came around the corner, Ann nearly leapt in shock. At first, seeing the spare frame, the manly shoulders, she thought for a moment that it was Robin. But a second later the drawling voice, full of derision beyond her years, told her that it was even worse than a ghost.

"Well, not letting any grass grow over the grave, are you?"

It was a cruel and vicious and all too usual thing for Terri to say. "And what are you doing here," Ann asked, unable and unwilling to launch a rebuttal. "Same as you, I suppose. Like mother, like daughter."

Ann's eyes narrowed. "What are you talking about? You spent the night here?" The girl nodded. "With Evan?"

"No, with Marvella. I've gone dyke."

"Terri -"

"Please don't tell me you're shocked, Mother. I hate to laugh so early in the morning. Of course with Evan. And how about yourself? Was it Curt? Or John?… no, I hardly think John. Sid? No, Donna's got him sewed up. Why…”Her eyes widened in mock surprise. "Could it be rather the grieving widower? Were you able to ease his sorrow?"

"All right, that's enough."

"How long has it been, two months? Maybe you could still use the funeral flowers for the wedding."

"Goddam it, that's enough from you!" Ann was trembling. "What have I done?" she said. "You tell me what I've done to deserve this from you? Go ahead. Tell me."

For once Terri was silent. Her face still wore its studied look of contempt, but she seemed quelled. Then she took a deep breath. "You have done nothing, Mother. You are innocent. Te absolvo. Things are between you… and your conscience." She gave a little wave before she turned toward the stairs. "Have a nice day."

I can have her now. I can have her any time.

She is so absurd. She thinks she is clever in her ironies. But instead she wears her heart on her sleeve. Her feelings are plain for all to see, yet her mother ignores them. The source of her anger, her pain, is so obvious. She wants what her mother has.

The little whore is jealous.

But she will not have to be for long. No.

I shall give her what she wants.

I shall give her the Emperor.

Scene 4

The following Monday evening, Terri Deems was working alone in the costume shop. She would not have had to, but she had fallen into the habit of avoiding her mother whenever possible, and knew that Ann would be home that night.

She simply could not abide to be in the same room with Ann. The previous week Terri had remained in her own room in the evenings, making excuses to take her own car to Kirkland rather than ride with Ann. The weekend hadn't been bad, because her mother had been away for most of it. Although she hadn't asked, and Ann hadn't offered the information, Terri assumed that she had spent it with Dennis Hamilton. Fine, she had told herself bitterly. Get it while you can. Besides, her mother was forty-three already, and her looks weren't going to last forever. Maybe if she married Dennis, Terri wouldn't have to see her again. Ann could live in Dennis's palace and give Terri the house. That would be fine with her. Mothers were a bitch anyway. At least hers was. A bitch and more.

She sighed and turned back to her sketching. She liked the costume shop, both the dry and calming presence of Marvella, and the utter silence when she was alone there. She was alone tonight. Marvella had taken Whitney to a birthday party for one of her friends from day care. At first she had been hesitant about leaving Terri alone in her domain, but the girl had been so excellent an assistant that she had finally agreed. "Don't get too fancy with anything," Marvella had warned her, "and make damn sure everything's put away when you're done – one thing I hate's coming in and not being able to find shit." Terri had smilingly agreed, since she didn't even plan to touch a needle that evening. Rather she was working on her designs for the chorus of Craddock.

It had been Marvella's idea for her to work up a few designs for the show. The principals' costumes, of course, would be designed by Marvella, but if Terri's designs were good, Marvella told her that some would be used, and she would get an associate costume designer credit, a title well worth having, particularly under the aegis of Marvella Johnson. If only, she thought, she did not have her mother to thank for having gotten her the job.

Damn! Thinking about Ann had made her extend a bodice too far. She erased the offending line and redrew it, her thoughts returning to her mother again.

What had she ever done to deserve Terri's contempt? Ann had asked in all seriousness. Nothing, mother, absolutely nothing, and perhaps that was the problem.

Ann had always been such a goddamned coward. Whenever Terri had asked for something, whether it was some extra spending money for clothes, her own car, or later, as a college freshman, for a signed permission slip so that she could start taking birth control pills (that one had been kept a secret from her father), Ann had always agreed, albeit with motherly cautions, such as the observation that the pill would do nothing to prevent AIDS. Her father had done very little parenting. Most of the time he was working, and when he wasn't he was either playing golf or parked in front of the television. Maybe, Terri thought, that was why she liked Marvella so much – because when she said do something, you either did it or else.

A movement at the door caught her eye, and she saw Cristina rubbing herself against the frame. "Well, hello, girl," she said to the cat. "You lonely tonight? You'd have to be to come and see me, huh?" She had never seen such a standoffish feline before. It wouldn't allow anyone except Abe Kipp to pat it, and if you tried to corner it to lavish some affection on its gray fur, God help you. It would just as soon savage you as look at you.

Nevertheless, Terri put down her pen, knelt next to her drafting table, and rubbed her fingers together. "C'mon, girl… c'mon, Crissie… puss puss puss…”

The cat, its itch apparently scratched, sat and looked at her, unblinking, as still as an Egyptian idol.

"Aw, come on," she said, "let me pet you, huh?"

"Like most of us," said a voice from above, "there are few people she loves."

(TERRI looks up at the loft and sees THE EMPEROR standing there, leaning on the railing. He is dressed in a V-neck sweater and navy slacks.)

TERRI

Jesus, you startled me. How did you get in here?

THE EMPEROR

I must have come in when you weren't looking. (His manner is gentle, very non-imperious. He descends the stairs through the following speech.) You'll find it quite an endeavor to get on the good side of Cristina.

TERRI

She's not very friendly, is she?

THE EMPEROR

No. Of course you never can tell with animals – or with people. One minute it seems as though they hate you… (Now at the doorway, he leans down and picks up the cat, cradles it in his arms. It purrs and nuzzles his hand.)… and before you know it, you discover that there is… some affection there after all.

What in God's name? Terri thought. That cat hated Dennis. Marvella had told her that in no uncertain terms, and she had seen an example of it once, when Dennis had rounded a corner and taken the beast by surprise. Cristina had leapt into the air, come down spitting, taken a swipe at his ankle, and run off. But now she lay there as gentle as. .. yes, goddammit, a kitten, purring and reaching up toward his face to lick it, as though Dennis was the kindest, most calming thing in the world.

It was a sensation she was uncomfortably aware of herself. Here was a man she was determined to despise, a man who had seduced her mother – perhaps not for the first time, in spite of Ann's denials – only a short time after his wife was in her grave, who, with his money and fame, simply bought everything that he desired. Yet she, like that sycophant of a cat he held in his arms, could not help but feel drawn to him, just as, she finally admitted to herself, she had been ever since she had first seen him on the stage.