Tea For Two Families

by Sydney Michelle

 

Part Four

 

It took Beth five minutes by the clock to finish up, the tea pots cleaned and drying in the rack, the dishwasher running a short cycles on the rest of the tea things. The cups she and Vicky had used had been the most trouble: she always removed the clinging lipstick by hand. The children were not of an age to use lipstick, other than for pageants, so their cups had gone straight into the dishwasher.

"Knock, knock. Are you decent, my little lamb?"

"You can always come in, Mommie."

That won't last much longer. "Thank you, Sweetheart. Are you having trouble getting changed?"

"A little." Sandy was standing in the middle of his room. Only his shoes and stockings had made it off.

"What seems to be the problem?"

"I can't reach."

"You'll have to learn sometime. Mommie can't always be around to be your personal maid."

Sandy giggled. "Like Angela?"

"No. Not like Angela. She doesn't do this sort of thing for Mommie." Beth stood close behind Sandy, placing her hands on his shoulders looking into the mirror. Like mother, like son? If my hair were a little lighter? A tad less red? But then his hair could be a little brighter. Maybe a honey blonde after puberty?

Beth touched the bright blue ribbon tied around his curl catch point. "Why don't we start with this? Then we can get you out of your clothes." She cast a glance at the bed. A buttercup yellow playsuit lay on it. "I see you have picked out something for the evening."

Sandy nodded. "Undress me? Please Mommie?"

"Alright." Beth untied the hair ribbon, folding it neatly to lay on Sandy's vanity. She unhooked the gold lavalier and removed the gold studs, depositing them in Sandy's jewelry case. Crimson nails undid the top hook, then unbuttoned the back of the blue organza. A single tug undid the silver bow. "Lift." Sandy's arms shot up to allow Beth to lift the party dress up off his body, revealing the crinoline petticoats and the reinforced Lycra of his corset.

"I'll hang up your dress while you unlace."

Beth glanced at Sandy to make sure he wasn't having trouble with the laces before she opened the door of the walk-in closet. Sandy's head was down, curls draped down the back of his head, as he fumbled with the bow at the top of his corset.

On one side, the closet was filled with pageant and dance gear: gowns, petticoats, shoes, crowns, and three wig heads with curled hairpieces pinned on: a cascade, a mini-fall, and a two foot long fall. Beth made a mental note to box up the smaller dresses once school started to sell at the Chatham Dance Academy rummage sale.

The other side held the rest of Sandy's wardrobe: party dresses, school uniforms, play clothes, exercise suits, skirts and blouses. A single set of open shelves held nightgowns, robes, and lingerie. And one shelf held corsets, one for each day with one week's count at the cleaners. Beside the shelves stood his clothes hamper, empty except for two corsets since Angela had run their wash that day.

Beth hung the party dress on a padded hanger, clipping the straps so that it wouldn't slide off. From the pageant side, she took down a wooden hanger to hold Sandy's petticoats. Beth stood between the racks for a moment, enjoying the faint cedar odor as she ran polished nails over Sandy's half dozen party dresses that ranged in color from ice blue to plum. Beside them hung Sandy's Christmas party dress from last year. Can Martha get another year out of this? Or do I need to take him to Nashville? We'll see how much he will have grown by Halloween.

When Beth emerged, Sandy had his corset loose and had swung his petticoats around to attack the snaps. He looked up at the sound of the latticed door closing.

"Why do I have to wear this thing, Mommie? I feel so much better when it's off."

"I've told you a hundred times, Sandy, that you need to wear corsets to train your figure, to develop your waist. Besides, it helps your posture."

"But Freddie doesn't have to wear one every day." Sandy unsnapped the outer petticoat and lowered it down to the floor.

"Freddie's a girl. She doesn't need as much help as birls to have a waist when she's grown up."

"It's not fair." Sandy handed the snow white petticoat to his mother.

"You and she aren't the same, so you two need different things. You want to be attractive for Samantha, don't you?"

Sandy nodded as he fumbled with the snaps.

"You do like it when Samantha says you're pretty, don't you?"

Sandy lowered the sky blue petticoat to the floor, stepping out of the material. "Oh, yes; I like it that she likes me."

Beth clipped the blue petticoat to the hanger opposite the white one. "Then you need to work to be attractive. Sometimes that may hurt a little, but it's worth it when she takes your hand, isn't it?"

"Yes." Sandy began to tug at the corset, working it down his chest. "Mommie?"

Beth stopped in her path to the closet. "Yes, Sandy?"

"Will I have boobs someday?"

"Alexandra Brown! That word is not lady-like! If you must talk about that, say 'bosom' or 'breasts.' 'Boobs' is so, so crass. And whyever are you asking about that?"

"I was just wondering. Linda Blanche's brother Celie has to wear a bra now and I thought if I had bo . . , ehr, bosoms, I might not have to wear a corset any more."

"Let me hang up your petticoats and we can discuss it while you get dressed." Beth shivered as she entered the closet. Oh my. My darling birl is growing up faster than I thought.

Beth paused in the closet doorway, glancing over Sandy's room. It was a typical birl's room for the son of a fairly successful businesswoman. Since Alexandra was the apple of his mother's eye, it might have been a little more ornate than his friends', but a mother was entitled to spoil her youngest a little. And he was so sweet, almost never needing corner time since the Terrible Twos, that Beth couldn't resist giving him something special from time to time.

Tabitha sat in her rocker, still in her blue gingham, next to the doll table and tea set beside the toy chest. Sandy's computer sat at his study desk under the window with the ruffled swag curtains. His low boy sat in the corner, his framed sampler beside the tilt mirror, the first project at Busy Bee when he was four. The numbers and letters were tightly cross-stitched in green and red thread, his name, Alexandra Michelle Brown, above them, surrounded by tiny embroidered flowers. A gold framed triptych stood on the other end of the low boy, holding pictures from last Easter's shoot. The middle frame held the group photo, Beth, Fredericka, and Alexandra; Beth's single shot filled the left frame, Freddie's the right. On the edge next to it sat a gold tone frame with an old 3x5 of his father Alex.

His Princess bow bed stood out from the middle of the wall, the white ruffled cover leading from post to post where white net swags hung down. A yellow play suit lay on the thin blue coverlet, a hope chest sat at the foot, a two step stool by the head. Next to the hall wall was a game table with four little chairs where he had "received" his guests for "house." Two framed posters hung on the corner walls: one of a pair running through a field of wild flowers, their hair and skirts flying in the wind; the other a view of Nashville's Parthenon.

A dark blue field Oriental carpet copy filled the space before the bed, the edge three feet back from the door. It complemented the light yellow wallpaper with small red and blue ribboned bouquets. It lay over an ivory carpet that provided a measure of warmth to the toes on cold days, and a modicum of soundproofing to the dining room below.

A beveled oval pier mirror hung on the white door; a slight tilt at the top made it more useful for Sandy to view his four foot frame. To it's right sat his Bombay chest, the holder of all his socks and panties and tees, and a set of cotton nighties, all with the frilly trim he liked on the hems. A lace doily covered most of the top, fending off the dust, with a music box holding down one corner. On the other was an 8x10 in a pierced gold toned frame of Sandy in an ice blue pageant dress, its skirt spread out by four petticoats color graduated from blue white to French blue. His smile was wide and genuine as he balanced his crown while clutching his first gold ribbon trophy. That had been two and a half years ago. The display case next to the chest now held ten crowns and sashes, and almost two dozen trophies and ribbons from his monthly performances.

At the sight of Sandy's awards, an image flickered through Beth's mind. Sarah Brandt had wanted Sandy to start modeling, a few trunk shows, a flower child for the local bridal couture. But Beth thought Sandy too young, too innocent for anything that intense. She had only consented to Sandy appearing with Freddie in a few commercials and two music videos as background extras. Sarah kept telling her that the camera loved Sandy's face, his smile and eyes lit up so naturally in his portfolio photos. Maybe this September, after he was six, starting with the Christmas ads, if it didn't disrupt his transition at Miss Fairchild's. But Miss Fairchild's did stress the arts for all the children. None of its graduates would be allowed to be shy wallflowers, uncertain and insecure when occasions called for them to appear before a group. With practice, even the most introverted child could calmly deliver a piece before an audience.

The cases containing Sandy's guitar and autoharp stood in the corner. Terri Brooks had taught him well enough that Sandy could accompany himself for some songs. He liked the autoharp well enough that sometimes he would play even as he watched television.

The wall that formed the back of Freddie's closet was bare except for posters pinned diagonally to the sheetrock. One was of Faith Hill, long brown curls flying around her face and body. Another was of Shania Twain, from "I Feel Like A Woman," complete with top hat, face veil, jet choker, and attitude. He had picked them out himself, heroines for a Southern birl. Completing the set was a studio promo of Vivien Leigh as Scarlet in her mourning black. An adult sized captain's chair sat before them.

The jewel of the room was standing in front of his vanity, down to his panties, turning to see his reflection in the vanity mirror, using a hand mirror to view the long curls trailing down the back of his head. He smiled as he turned and patted the curls with his free hand. Loose, his hair fell to his hips; it gave Miss Jennie plenty to work with when she turned his hair into the thick banana curls he so loved to wear.

His first salon set was for his third birthday party, his formal introduction as Alexandra Michelle Brown, his new name part of the package of shedding Shipwright from my identity. Wearing pretty dresses had tempered the tantrums of the Terrible Twos, so when Vicky suggested that Sandy join her Carol Sue in becoming a birl, a light went off in my head. In the six months since the divorce was final, Sandy's hair had grown out to six inches. Sandy had even seemed proud when little plastic bow barrettes caught his hair back out of his eyes, so maybe he would accept a real hairdo. A trial run of curlers "just 'til your hair drys" after a Saturday bath didn't produce a peep of protest. Unlike the trips to the barber to get his hair cut, he hadn't wailed at all in the chair, not even when Miss Jennie had cut in his bangs. He had sat up straight, taking everything in while Miss Jennie combed him out. He had been so proud to have a hairdo "just like Mommie" when we left High Style. Two weeks after his birthday, back in the salon for the first of his weekly sets with me and Frtedericka, I had his lobes pierced. He had wanted to be able to wear earrings, just like Freddie and I just couldn't tell him no.

Sandy had lovely dusty pink aureolas, with pert little nipples on his very flat, very pale chest. The sight of them brought back his question before the trip into the closet with petticoats to recover composure and think of an answer.

"Sweetheart? You want to come over hear and sit by Mommie? Bring your powder so I can dust you. And lets get something on you before you catch your death."

"Okay." Sandy carefully laid the hand mirror on the dresser, picked up his box of dusting powder, and sashayed over to the foot of the bed, swivelling his hips with each crossover step, head held high and steady.

"What are you doing?"

"Practicing my pageant walk. Miz Talent says I should do it every day so it feels natural when I parade."

"Hhm. Well, yes, but try doing it dressed, not almost naked. Let me dust you down."

Sandy raised his arms out, hands cocked back to his shoulders. Beth pulled out the powder puff, dusting him lightly, throat, body, underarms, before putting the top back on the box.

"Here, put this on." Beth held out an ivory tricot half slip.

"Okay." Sandy stood still, arms up, waiting for his mother to slide the smooth material down his hairless torso.

"Sandy? Sweetheart? Do you really want tp have breasts someday?"

Sandy's head emerged from the nylon. He shimmied, the slip falling into place. "Uh-huh."

"You're a birl you know."

"So?"

"Well, birls don't just develop breasts."

"Celie's are growing."

"Well, there will come a time, if you really want them, I can take you to see Mommie's gynecologist, Dr. Tompkins, and she can help you develop breasts. But only if you really want them, want to always be a birl, then a coman, a bride and a wife."

"Could you take me for my birthday?"

Beth bent her face close to Sandy's. "It's a big step. You'll have to be older for that."

"Okay." Sandy pointed to the bed. "Will you help me put on my playsuit?"

"Okay." Beth half turned, pulled the yellow playsuit to her.

"Mommie?"

"Yes, Sweetheart?"

"Then can I get my nose pierced? Carol Sue is getting his pierced before school starts."

"Why, yes, you can. You'll need to wear a ring at Miss Fairchild's. So if it won't spoil the surprise too much, I'll let you in on a little secret."

"What is it?"

"One of your birthday presents is your first nose ring. I had planned on having your nose pierced at our weekly set the next day."

Sandy threw his arms around Beth's neck. "Oh thank you, Mommie! I'll be so grown up!"

"Not too fast, Sweetheart. After all you're still your Mommie's darling."

"No, Mommie, not too fast."

"Tell you what. How would you like your party to extend past Friday? How would you like for Carol Sue to come with us to High Style so he can have his nose pierced with you? Afterwards we can go to the mall and buy you something special for your new school. And maybe he could sleep over?"

Sandy hugged Beth tightly. "Oh, would you, Mommie? Could we? And if I'm real good, can I get my ears pierced too? Hoops and studs look so nice now."

"Yes, Sweetheart. Hoops and studs would look nice under a fresh set of your curls."

"Thank you, Mommie. You're the best Mommie in the whole wide world."

Beth wasn't sure Alex would have agreed, but then he hadn't actually seen the children since she had moved back to Heraton and he had been transferred to Dayton. If it weren't for e-mail, the children would not have had any contact with him at all. Which would have been just fine with Beth. So far she had managed to keep Sandy from sending him any candid shots. An annual photo with Sandy's hair pulled back so as not to show its length seemed to be sufficient, especially now that he had produced a new set of offspring.

"Now then, into your playsuit. Arms up."

Sandy stood there waiting for the crisp folds to fall over him. In no time, he was settling the smooth material around his legs, cinching the little yellow tie tight. Even with the corset off, he had a little nip of a waist line.

"Okay. Shoes on, then you can go downstairs and watch cartoons. Better yet, read a story book. Or even better, play a game with Fredericka."

"I don't think she wants to play with me right now. I don't think she liked it when I won this afternoon."

"Oh, I'm sure she didn't mind." Much. "Just play nicely. I have to change, and I may lie down for a bit before I fix supper. Is soup and crackers alright? Pudding for dessert?"

"That's fine, Mommie. I'm not really hungry."

Not yet. Give it a couple of hours. At least the teenage vacuum hasn't started up.

"Then I'll be down in an hour or so. Give me sugar."

Sandy kissed his mother's cheek, dug out his sneakers from under the bed, and was headed for the door without another word. Before he left, he paused before the mirror, turned, checked himself in the back, plumped his stiff curls. He grinned in the mirror, pleased with what he saw and was gone in a flash.

Beth sighed, leveraged herself off the bed, picked up the powder box, walked slowly toward the vanity. She couldn't help noticing her reflection in the mirror. Strawberry blonde hair done up in a French Roll with a curl dangling down the seam, a trim figure with pert breasts, displayed by a scoop bust peach and white pinch waist dress that ended just below her knees. If she did say so herself, she had nice calves, smooth, with a strong muscle line, and trim ankles that showed well in white, open toed sandals with two inch heels. If she just weren't so busy with her business and family, she shouldn't have trouble finding a male to caress and cuddle. That and she never had enjoyed the meat market of one night stands. She was more than woman enough to prefer someone steady beside her. She would just have to pick better next time, someone reliably supportive, rather than someone trying to prove he was still a man, married or no.

Well, there were slight bags under the eyes, the result of too many tasks and too little Elizabeth. Angela is a dear, maybe I should add some more of his days to the schedule. Then there is June. Could I lay off more of the work at Cumberland Tours on him? Perhaps the pricing on the repeat tours? He is already helping at the marketing presentations. I need someone to compose brochures and catalogs. Perhaps I will just have to break down and hire another someone full time. Perhaps one of the tour guides? If I could just find the time to decide what that person would do.

Beth ran her hands down, smoothing the material over her waist. Time for me to get out of my girdle, relax a little. I can think about it while I fix supper.

  

  

  

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