THE SEVERED LINK(Susan Joyner-Stumpf) SEVERED LINK

Mother surely must have known that her mother was coming because she left the house at quarter after ten and grandmother had arrived precisely at eleven. I watched mom as she hastened to leave, gathering up her manila folio of files, dabbing on another coat of ruby lipstick, telling me there was pancake mix in the kitchen cabinet.

“But you don’t work on Saturday,” I said to her. I followed her around the rooms like a silly puppy, and the living quarters which were off bounds to me. I waited patiently for her outside the massive doors.

“Well, today I do,” she told me. She studied my blank stare. She smoothed away the yellow bangs falling in my eyes. “Today is an exception. Please don’t ask me what exception. You’re my only daughter, Lore, and I love you deeply, but there are just some things you can’t understand at this point in time. Even though you’re fifteen, there are circumstances that are better left unsaid for now. And don’t look so sad, dear. I won’t be gone long. Promise. I’ll probably be back home in time for dinner.”

She kissed me and flew out the door in a whiff of Chanel No. 5 and I ran to the bay window, threw open the heavy, burgundy damask curtains and was just in time to see her wave as she slid ever gracefully into the red Porsche Targa that would soon be given to me on my sixteenth birthday. But I did not wave back. Somehow, I felt bitter towards her for escaping something but I didn’t know yet nor understand what it was. I just felt it in the thick, consuming air. What I could not understand was what exactly she was trying to run from that would cause her to give up a leisurely Saturday for the drudgery that accompanied the nine to five office ritual.

Another enigma that constantly tugged at my conscience was, why did she feel the need to work anyway? By modern standards, we were considered quite wealthy and lived more than comfortably on a beautiful landscaped estate in the outer suburbs; with heated pool, hot tub, sauna, six stable barn, tennis court and recreational room with Billiards, Pool Table, Ping Pong and full service bar. Dad was an Advertising-Publisher Mogul who owned his own multi-million dollar company. He himself was an Author of five books on Business and Finance. He was also a part-time actor when he wasn’t busy publishing the books of Award Winning Best Seller Authors. He appeared on television quite often. As a man, he’s extremely formidable, with all the trimmings of movie-star good looks to accompany his abundance of charm and charisma, according to Forbes 500 Magazine. Like the typical actor and wealthy businessman, he was often vain and intangible. He wasn’t cut out for the role of father, and since he didn’t have time for the menial fraternal duties it takes to woo a daughter, he quite frequently showered me with Gold Platinum Credit Cards with unlimited credit lines, and smothered me with other material things in hopes that it would not only compensate for his absence of affection, but at the same time keep me content and out of mischief, for I tended to be a wild child because of the freedoms afforded me. So the Actor, the Writer, the TV Personality, the Entrepreneur, whatever, was in reality just another pretty face as far as I was concerned.

A little later he called after mother left. When I told him she was gone, he was just as bewildered as me. For some odd reason, I savored that bit piece of information, for it meant, finally, that for once we had something in common.

“What time did she leave?” His voice was deep, masculine, self-assured, commanding, and vaguely familiar. I heard interference between the wires connecting us but I still picked up on his disdain for not having complete control over his wife’s whereabouts.

“At exactly quarter after ten.” I waited for him to say something else. Anything. I was moved by the sound of his mere voice and the vivid, organic image of him rushing in my mind. The dashing, debonair figure that was more imagination than reality at this point.

“Did she say why?” Now he was clearly irritated but trying to tone it down with me. His voice cracked. My God, I thought, he’s human. The situation tortured him. “She’s not usually like this. What the ~ ~ I’m sorry Lore. It’s just unusual for her to leave the house so suddenly, without good reason.”

“She told me nothing except that I’m only fifteen and one day I’ll understand.” My voice was as sad as his was slightly angry.

The silence worried me. Was he still there? Were we disconnected? I heard him clear his throat, and then he returned calmly to the receiver.

“Well, when your mother finally comes home have her call me immediately, is that understood?”

“Yes, sir…”

He interrupted. “Make sure the doors are locked and have the Security Guard not let any cars through, no matter what, unless they come through the intercom and you know who they are. If you need me, leave a message with my Secretary Victoria. I will be in business meetings all day but I will take your mother’s call. Got it?”

Before I could respond, I heard the click. The dead silence following. I didn’t even get a chance to thank him for the new black Arabian gelding. The Registration Papers on the horse alone was enough to fill a leather-bound volume. I knew I probably wouldn’t hear or see him until tomorrow night, around dinner. I wondered how mother felt; she too was accommodated by his absences, both physically and emotionally. Of course she had her Bridge Clubs, Country Clubs, Garden Clubs and Charities to keep her occupied. But she as well had credit cards to every major Department Store from Wal-Mart to Saks Fifth Avenue. Then there was the Estate with its full-time staff of Chefs, Butlers, Security Guards, Maids and Chauffeurs to keep in line. By the time dad did most times walk through those heavy beveled glass doors, I was long since in bed and mother, as always, would be waiting for him in the paneled den nursing her Chardonnay and reading, most likely, the latest article written about herself in Top Ten Powerful Women of Colorado Magazine.

I fed Samurai, my Afghan Hound, and then took him for a romp on the grounds, near the running creek and Gazebo. I hated playing hide-and-seek with him because he was always too quick, too clever and too easy to lose. Despite the fact that he had two bad assets working against him: being huge and tawny blonde, he could still fit in the skimpiest underbrush, or sit behind the nearest tree, and still I would not detect him. Samurai also had a bad habit of ignoring his name when he felt that his run wasn’t long enough. He’s rebellious and wonderful at the same time.

This time, though, sensing something wrong with me, he stayed mostly by my side and was cooperative when it was time to head back to the house. I called him and he leaped happily to my side, almost knocking me down in the process. We raced back to the main house where I put him in the glassed Atrium Sunroom, filled his bowls, then retreated to the kitchen to make pancakes.

I had begun to clear dishes away when the door bell rang. Funny, Norman, the Security Guard, had not warned me of company. Not the first time he’d done this. Hopefully it was somebody I knew. I knew we weren’t expecting anyone, so it frightened me at first. Our driveway was a mile long, a winding maze through forest on either side, and rock-faced canyon cliffs on the hills divided by the gravel road. Our place was exclusive and private, and Norman had a list of relatives and our closest friends. Understandably, this security system minimized solicitors and other such undesirables. Seth, our Butler, ushered the guest into the foyer.

It was granny, my mother’s mother. Now the puzzle began to fit. Mother must have guessed her mother would be over today and left accordingly. From what I had gathered over the years, the fickle link between the two had never been strengthened and their hatred of one another only hardened as the wasted years went by. The reason behind it all was never explained to me. I was made to accept their relationship even though I myself got along pretty well with granny the few times I was allowed to visit her. I had to gather my own conclusions from bits and pieces of conversation I had picked up when my parents thought I wasn’t listening.

Granny was even richer than us, if that were possible. The difference is, she never tried to hide it. She was seventy-two, but in every way she neither looked nor acted her age. All that I had pieced together was that my mother had lived without her all her childhood, having a Nanny raise her. Granny had then showed up when her daughter was around the age I was now. I don’t know why or how granny had done this at a time in my mother’s life when she needed her most. Sometimes it hurt to realize that my own mother never had a proper home. It bothered to the extent that even I sometimes felt wary and abhorrent towards my grandmother. I then reminded myself that I didn’t know the entire story from both sides and therefore shouldn’t judge so harshly.

Today, granny wasn’t much different. She had been married and divorced a number of times; associated only with high class plutocrats; jet setted around the globe at least three times a year. I heard she even bought close friends Condos. Dad said that wealth had destroyed her because she allowed it to control her entire being. She oozed the jewels and expensive gowns that covered her lotioned, perfumed body. Her life was dominated by luxury and she forgot along the way how to empathize; how to feel, only that it might cost her something in the long run if she were to allow herself to come down off the throne and be human for a day.

I always noticed granny was adorned in fine, heirloom jewels draped or pinned on every inch of her. I heard mother joke of it once. She said that granny was never crazy about jewelry until she found out that she was capable of owning her own chain of stores. I could smell her suffocating perfume of Rose and Lavender. It permeated the room already thin with the tension between us.

She always came driven by her own private Chauffeur in a pearl-colored limousine with red interior. In her arms constantly was an auburn-colored Pekinese named Karter who actually believed he was ferocious. He manages somehow to get accustomed to moving around a lot, from limousine to Boeing 747’s, but how he tolerated the stifling aroma of her perfumes remained inexplicable.

“I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d drop by for a friendly chat.” Something told me that wasn’t really the case but I let it go. One has to choose their own battles and with granny, I could sit there cherry picking all day if I was forced too long in her company. She glanced around and laughed. “But, like I figured, there is no one here but you and pristine surroundings and hired help.” She took her long, slender finger and wiped it across the marble mantel. “Huh. And as usual, the Merry Maids are doing their job well. Not a dust particle in sight. Leslie is out, I gather?”

“Aren’t I good enough?”

“Sure dear, sure you are. But I’d like to see my own daughter once in a while.”

“Mom went to work. Said she was behind and needed to catch up.” Gosh, I’m turning into such a good liar. Where do I get that from?

Granny saw through the weak façade. “No different than it is now, in your day.” Granny motioned for me to sit and we sat across each other in the off-limits Parlor Room. I could get away with it because it was granny visiting. “Your mother was given everything and anything. She wanted for nothing and still she wasn’t happy.” Sounds familiar, I thought. Maybe she wanted YOU grandma. “Naturally, she blames me for all her misgivings, all her warped, traumatic childhood, all her aggressions, her egocentric womanhood, right into the web of her precipitant marriage. I guess she blames me for the death of Jesus Christ too. You’ll turn out just the same. Look at what all you have and yet, in the interior of you, so much is lacking. Yeah, you’re your mother’s daughter down to her fine-toothed comb. You’re following in her shallow footsteps.”

“Gee granny, I had no idea you held me in such high esteem. Much less have confidence in my future endeavors. And how do you know the status of my happiness?”

“The Marquis Diamond doesn’t fall far from a Tiffany setting, Lore. You even look like her when she was thirteen.”

“I’m fifteen now, granny.” I motioned to one of the Maids to bring us hot tea. I even directed her to use mother’s fine floral china set. I had to admit it felt good to give orders and to use heirloom porcelain china that mother normally only brought out for special occasions.

I thought to myself that at least mother had never deserted me. Not yet anyway. She was there in my childhood and she’s here now when I need her, for the most part. All she had growing up was a second-class maid who had a family of her own to take care of. Who could blame mother for turning out cold like she did? What was that about some diamond falling not far off the ring setting? Are we seeing a pattern here? The damage was beginning to surface after a long and wasted past.

Granny’s little dog Karter, who was partial only to granny, eyed me suspiciously and released a solemn warning growl anytime I came too near her. This infuriated me. If I didn’t love animals so much, I would bring Samurai in and see who’s king-bee then.

“Work,” granny laughed, then sputtered in disgust. “Your mother wouldn’t know a hard day’s work if it hit her with a fax machine. She works to avoid duties of a wife, and mother.” I tried to protest but she flung her hand up in the air to silence me. “How can you honestly respect a mother like that? And tell me child, when is the last time you saw your father? On channel 26? Why don’t you come live with me? I’ll raise you correctly, if it’s not already too late.” Yeah, I thought. Like you raised my mother? We know how that turned out. “In this environment, you’re too free to come and go. For goodness sakes you’re raising yourself. Youth today are too exposed to temptation, allowed access. You need someone to protect you, put a rein on you. You might want to seriously consider my good offer.”

She sipped her tea black. I stirred mine with sugar and cream. Fine time to be feeling sorry for someone, I thought. She must realize the mistake she made with mother, and now to justify past actions, she wants to treat me like she should have raised her own daughter. But then, what made her think she could be different with anyone? She would repeat the same errors with me. In a couple of months time, while boarded up in her mansion, she would be flying off to Paris, leaving me to my own vices. Once a deserter, always a deserter. She abandoned her daughter, a son, and five husbands. How could I ever believe I would be any different?

“This is my home, granny. Mother is good to me. It’s not as bad as you think, with dad, even. I see him at least three times a week. It’s just lately he’s been bogged down with a new merger or something like that. Mother enjoys working. She knows she doesn’t have to. She wants to give back. She does a lot of stuff for free. She offers her services from what I’ve been told. You’re hard on her. Dad promises to take me and mom on a vacation soon, to the Caribbean Islands.”

“Don’t hold your breath, sweet thing. Feelings are only substitutes for the lack of knowledge, Lore. You would like to believe your father is sincere about that trip. Hah!! I’ll be in London, Rome and Switzerland and back before you’ve left to go anywhere. You know deep down there is a tinge of doubt in your heart that it will be followed through. You mentally block out the reality that he will NOT be taking off from work ~ you just feel the longing, which suffices, for now. Are you really happy Lore? Don’t lie to me. Don’t lie like your mother does.”

“As much as I can be,” I said. “Is anyone happy all the time? I only envy other people for their fathers they see every night, or the mother that goes to the Mall with them on Saturday afternoons. That’s my only regret. But I guess there are some who envy all I have, too, you know? Outside of all that, I’m really proud of my parents. They’ve come a long way. They’ve asked you for nothing. Not all my friends have a celebrity father or a mother who looks young enough to be their older sister.”

“And that’s no life for anyone.” Granny was remorseful. It was the first time I ever heard her regret her stinking wealth and status. She opened her black beaded purse and pulled out a scented lace kerchief. Her dog faithfully licked her face.

“I’ll turn out fine. You’ll see.”

“No, no you won’t,” granny corrected. Her sobs started off softly. “No, you’ll grow up, leave home. People will befriend you, but, without knowing why, you’ll reject their offer, perhaps because they're middle class. You will only perceive friendship as a means to gather power; a weapon of sorts. Love a stepping stone to further, deeper manipulation and the end result of your ulterior motives. People will come and go out of your life like cheap flowers and all you will remember of them is what success or downfall accompanied that relationship, and where did it get you. Any closer to your dreams or did it draw a wedge between them. No real close ties with anyone, because that means you’re vulnerable. And you’ll come back for them twenty years down the road, you see, but they’re all gone and you find yourself alone. Oh Lore, your existence is written on the wall, you can’t help it. It’s called Bloodlines. You’re a true Blueblood, so get over it.”

She sobbed harder then calmed herself down. “Dear, dear child. It has happened to me. You grow up in a world of plutocracy, and it clings like a body scent. A magnet. You become addicted to one way of life and blind to the other. You seek out those drawn or apart of your debutante world. It’s all so ghastly insane I can’t stand it. Another reason I was so against your mother’s marriage to your father. I saw all that ambition, hunger, the driving power to be at the top, the best at everything and who did you kill on your way to the top? Your father had the makings of a millionaire Lore before he was even finished with his Bachelors of Science at Yale. I feared it from the beginning and the prophesy has fulfilled itself. Don’t end up like me Lore.”

She cried acridly, unabashed, and I couldn’t stop her. She even threw down her inseparable dog who then crouched in a remote corner of the room, trembling with fright, frozen in stillness like some porcelain statue.

“Granny, stop, everything will be ok.”

“Leslie . . . can be . . . so cruel . . .” she sobbed.

“No, no she’s not.”

Then granny started gagging, choking, gasping for breath. She sunk back into the plush velvet couch. I tried getting her to lie down, but she protested, digging her fingernails into my arms, drawing blood. I left her alone, and sat there, feeling helpless and mortified.

I ran out to get her Chauffeur. “Romero, Romero,” I screamed. “Come inside, something is wrong with grandmother.”

We both ran back inside only to find that granny had stopped gagging, stopped gasping, stopped sinking. She lay prostrate, half on the couch, half off, her hands clutched against her chest. Her Pekinese by now was in shock by her side, whimpering.

I closed my eyes, unable to think of the unthinkable. Not wanting to believe the worst. Romero told me to stay where I was. He was kneeling in front of her, taking her pulse. He turned around.

“She’s gone, Lore. She’s gone.” He said it so flatly, so perfectly. So professional even to the last minute. And to think only I had witnessed her secret confessions. Now I understood. It all made sense, some mad sense. I just wish my mother had been here instead.

I looked down at the pale face; the eyes still open, but yet looking inside another world where the souls of plutocrats and the poor were all one mingle. Romero called an ambulance. I, in the meantime, was trying to calm down her hysterical dog who by now sensed that the only thing in life that he loved and that ever loved him back, was gone. I felt sorry for him. He allowed me for the first time to touch him, to hold him, and he lay crumpled in my lap, a broken specimen of grief and loss.

Romero returned. “What about Karter?”

“You take him Romero. Granny trusted you. You’re in her Will, for goodness sakes. Karter is familiar with you. That’s all she wrote.”

He nodded. He understood. And only after the coroner had come and gone did I finally cry hard. Romero had thought that maybe it was her heart. And here it was, I never even knew, as I’m sure my mother didn’t either, that granny had a heart condition. She would never tell anyone that. It would be a sign of weakness. That’s too bad. But it didn’t surprise me that she died of a broken heart. She was a woman full of mystery, full of irony, but full of life. She was misunderstood and died misunderstood. No, I take it back. I take it all back. I do understand.

I tried calling dad but naturally couldn’t get through the right channels. I felt for once the family should be together, but instead, we were further apart than ever. I kept trying and trying to get through but his Secretary told me she had strict orders to only take messages. I didn’t want to say over the phone the reason I was calling. Maybe if I had she would have made an exception but something tells me that wouldn’t have made any difference.

An hour later, mother called. She sounded exhausted and desperate to come home.

“Did she leave?”

“How did you – “ . . .

“I knew Lore that she was coming over. The gall of that woman to come when I wasn’t there. Why can’t she just stay out of our lives? What all did she say?”

“That she is sorry for a lot of things. Wanted me to come live with her. Of course I said no. Look what she did to you? It wouldn’t have been any different with me. Anyway, we have a lot to talk about. You’re going to be fine mother.”

“Tries to steal my own daughter… that bitch. I’m sorry. When you’re a little older, all this will make sense honey. We’ll have a long talk someday. I hope in the meantime she stays away for good. I’m on my way home. See you in a short bit. We’ll have that talk, Lore. I promise. And what do you mean, I’m going to be fine? What about me?”

“You have the rest of our lives to tell me mother. To tell me who you really are. Maybe then I can find myself.”

I hope it’s not too late, I tried to say, but my mother had already hung up. But it is too late. That day there were two deaths. My grandmother. And the father I never really had.


© Susan Joyner-Stumpf

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