Denise Bryant - Mother and Daughter

Nothing developed, as I was determined to keep my two lives separate and distinct. And suddenly, it was June. School was out. The week of finalizing plans for the next school year was over. It was time for Kathy, 15 now, to spend another three months with her mother.

It was the very day before Kathy arrived that Bob called again. He wanted to return from out of nowhere and pick up exactly where things had left off.

“I think the only thing you can do,” he tried to influence me with that cold and indisputable logic of his, “is face up to this. I want to confront Kathy with it and prove to you that she is a lying little wench.”

“No,” I said coldly, flatly, angered also that he had called me collect from California, and angry at myself for having accepted the call.

“Denise, you must be reasonable,” he continued. “You owe it to yourself, and you certainly owe it to me after I spent a whole summer trying to help you. Well… perhaps I am being a little selfish and evasive. The truth is, Denise, that I just got back from the Far East. I've missed you. I've thought about you more than I should. I want to see you again… to love you…”

I quietly hung up the phone. It was the only thing I could do. If I had listened, I would have given in. If I had talked back or tried to argue, he would know that he could keep me in conversation. And if he did that, he probably knew that I would eventually agree to what he wanted.

And then I thought about tomorrow. I could hang up the phone easily enough, but what would I do if he came knocking on the door tomorrow or the next day… or next week? Kathy would be arriving the very next morning at 9:30, and I was determined not to let Bob intrude on our lives this summer.

Quickly, I looked through my telephone pad and found Mai's number. Mai was my first husband, and Kathy, of course, lived with him and his wife. I was so intent on what I was doing, it never occurred to me to be nervous or hesitant about calling Mai, although I had not talked to him in years. His wife answered the phone and I immediately told her, “This is Denise Bryant. I'd like to speak to Kathy's father, please.”

I tried not to sound too desperate. I mentioned nothing about Bob or any fears of Kathy's misbehavior in any way. Instead, I told him that I would like to take Kathy to the beach to spend the summer, and I asked if he could possibly send me a little extra to take care of her expenses. Mai was the nicest I had ever known him to be. He told me that he thought it was a wonderful idea and would send along an extra check with Kathy that would be enough to cover both our expenses.

I packed that night and put everything in the car. When I picked up Kathy at the airport, we were on our way to Florida.

Our reunion was highly strained at first. Neither of us said very much of anything. After we turned off the beltway and were 40 miles down the turnpike, I told Kathy I had packed some lunch for us and that there was a thermos of cold tea in the back.

“How's Bob?” she asked me out of the blue when she finished eating and poured both of us a paper cup of iced tea.

“I haven't seen him since you left last September,” I answered quite honestly, welcoming the opportunity to clear the air, “and I can't say that I'm sorry.”

“Was it about me?”

“What do you mean?”

“Well… about what I said when I left on the plane that day.” She obviously wanted to talk about it too. “Was that why you broke up?”

“That certainly played a part in it,” I admitted, lighting a cigarette and finding it difficult to concentrate on my driving. “He denied it, of course.”

“Mother… I have a terrible confession to make,” she stated with what seemed genuine feeling, “I lied to you about Bob. He never did it to me. Never.”

“Who am I to believe, Kathy?” I asked her point blank, moving to the right lane so I could drive slower. “I was in love with Bob. And I love you. That's a pretty terrible decision to make.”

“The decision you made means you love me more.” Kathy analyzed with amazing perspective, “If you had loved him more, you wouldn't have kicked him out.”

“Why did you do it, Kathy?” I demanded to know, not about to tell her the details of Bob's departure, “Why did you deliberately tell me you had been having sex relations all summer with Bob?”

“I'm very sorry, mother,” she replied, suddenly wanting to avoid discussion. “It was very mean and very nasty of me. I do things like that sometimes and it bugs Father and Mother Nancy so much. He says I'm a very moody and unpredictable person. I do have problems sometimes. I can't talk with them about it. They wouldn't understand. You're different, Mother. You're young and alive, and you've got boyfriend problems too… you were so wrapped up with Bob last summer… I couldn't ever talk to you. Not like I wanted to.”

“Kathy… Kathy, you poor darling,” I said with a feeling of very deep and sincere affection, putting my arm around her and pulling her close, almost crying, “Kathy… I know why you told me that horrible thing now. You were jealous. Every summer before, we've had so much time alone together. I was never involved with one man… never someone at the house with us all the time.”

“Oh, Mother… Mother I've wanted to talk, to you so much like a close friend… like a girlfriend who's hip and been around and can take care of herself. Will you let me? Will you be my friend, and my Mother too. Oh, Mother, we can have such a blast at the beach together. I can see us walking along together in bikinis and we won't know whether the boys are whistling at you or me. We can double on dates, and…”

I think I must have been the happiest and most relaxed I had been in years. Instead of stopping for the night, we drove straight on through and got to the beach early the next morning. Kathy had slept in the car, of course, and I was very tired. Yet I was so invigorated. I felt so wonderful. We had not talked too much more about the real personal things that were concerning Kathy. But the barriers had been pushed aside. The prospects for a happy time looked very good indeed.

We found a beautiful new motel with private beach and pool, and set up housekeeping for the summer. We had one huge room with sofa beds and a kitchenette, beautifully furnished and air-conditioned. We went grocery shopping that afternoon, and I enjoyed every minute of even the most routine things like that with Kathy. It was wonderful to see how she had matured, knew how to shop and to plan meals. Of course, Kathy had matured in other ways.

She would be fifteen in a week. Her body is fuller and more developed. We wore very close to the same size clothes, and I discovered quite to my surprise that my bras fit her perfectly. We tried on bikinis together the next day at one of the beach stores, and we took exactly the same size. We bought three between us and had a lot of fun arguing over who would wear which and on what day.

Back at the motel, we modeled them together and just had a wonderful time. I marveled at my daughter's striking beauty, her long hair, the darling and lovable face, and her perfect figure. I suppose that in the back of my mind, the many things that had been said before and the many strange ideas implanted in my neurotic head, did trouble me some. But at the time, I felt that my feeling toward Kathy was the truly wonderful emotion that it should be. The problems of the previous summer were forgotten and it was to be a fun time together. And, of course, there would be those serious mother-daughter discussions that she had asked for.

The problem that first confronted me however, was men. We both seemed to be the center of attraction, and the men who were attracted by us were usually too young for me and too old for Kathy. I was not concerned for myself, of course. I adored the attention from younger men that my daughter's presence helped stimulate. The problem was that I was concerned about my 15-year-old daughter running around with men from 20 to 30, and about my own lack of privacy to carry on an affair.