Before We Met

Before We Met

All Rights Reserved © 2002 by Robert L. Bailey

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, graphic, electronic, or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, taping, or by any information storage retrieval system, without the written permission of the publisher.

Writers Club Press

an imprint of iUniverse, Inc.

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ISBN: 0-595-25803-4 (pbk)

ISBN: 0-595-65348-0 (cloth)

ISBN: 978-1-4697-2761-5 (eBook)

Contents

CHAPTER 1

CHAPTER 2

CHAPTER 3

CHAPTER 4

CHAPTER 5

CHAPTER 6

CHAPTER 7

CHAPTER 8

CHAPTER 9

CHAPTER 10

CHAPTER 11

CHAPTER 12

CHAPTER 13

CHAPTER 14

CHAPTER 15

CHAPTER 16

CHAPTER 17

CHAPTER 18

CHAPTER 19

CHAPTER 20

CHAPTER 21

CHAPTER 22

CHAPTER 23

CHAPTER 24

CHAPTER 25

CHAPTER 26

CHAPTER 1

Monday May 15, 2000 Brown University Providence, Rhode Island

The warm morning sun reflected off the aluminum and steel skin of the high rise buildings located in downtown Providence as the normal vehicle traffic flowed over the streets much like the boats on the river nearby. The passenger in the back seat of the sleek new limousine touched the button to lower the window as the Cadillac crossed the bridge over the Seekonk River on Highway 195. She leaned close to the door looking down at the large boat moving south towards the bay, lost sight of it as it slid under the bridge then leaned back in the seat thinking how nice it would be to trade places with anyone on board the beautiful craft.

She would rather be anyplace than here in the car going to do what she must. Shake it off, she told herself. There have been other bad things to take care of, this was just another. She would have to be strong and bear the burden. She was a Cambridge and she had been properly trained to overcome her feelings and carry on. She just had to remember who she was. She was Eleanor Louise Cambridge Westover and she would endure even though she wanted to cry and let all the grief come out. She reached for her purse lying on the seat, opened it and stirred around inside until she found a small mirror. She looked at her face, took a small hanky and touched her make up. She sat looking at her reflection thinking back to when her hair and been dark black and not snow white as it was now. She thought her face was still nice and firm for her advanced age. She smiled when she thought of how old she was. She didn’t think there was anyone alive that knew she was ninety. She put the mirror back and pulled out a pack of Salem cigarettes found her lighter and lit one, inhaling deeply.

The window dividing the front seat from the back was open and the smoke was drawn up around the uniformed chauffeur behind the wheel. The man cleared his throat, and then looked at Eleanor in the rear view mirror.

Not one damn word Johnathon. I know I have been told to give them up but remember I don’t give you a hard time every time you throw back a shot of whisky, she said. How much further is it?

Not far now madam, the chauffeur told her. It is just past the commercial district.

He rolled the window between them up to keep her smoke in the back and a slight grin appeared on his face thinking about the many times she had invited him to the library to join her for a shot or two of her fine whiskey.

He had been to Brown University many times, driving Mrs. Westover’s granddaughter Amy back and forth from the large house in Newport. He spotted the campus buildings ahead and thought about where to turn to reach the girl’s dormitory. He found the corner and in a few minutes pulled up in front of the building. He felt a sharp pain in his stomach as he spotted Amanda Westover sitting on a stone bench near the entrance of the dormitory.

Oh damn, Eleanor said when she saw her granddaughter. Someone has told her.

She opened the door and stepped out of the car before the chauffeur could come around to help her. Amy stood up and ran the few feet to meet her, falling into her grandmother’s arms as she opened them to hug her. She buried her face in Eleanor’s chest, the tears flowing freely as her grandmother patted her on the back and spoke to her softly, trying to console her. When she was cried out, the girl broke loose, leaned back and faced Eleanor.

Who in the hell told you? her grandmother asked.

The police called. I was in the dining room just getting some breakfast, Amy responded.

I’m sorry dear. I told the bastards I would tell you personally. You should have heard it from me not from some uncaring Neanderthal on the phone. Come along, get in the car, Eleanor told her.

She held onto the girl leading her to the car and waited until she crawled in then joined her on the back seat. She rummaged around in her purse, found a cigarette and lit it.

What did they tell you? Eleanor asked her.

Just that there had been a plane crash and mother and father had both been killed, Amy responded. Where were they?

They decided to run down to the Caribbean for a few days and flew to Miami and then on to Bermuda. They were on a small plane out over the ocean and the pilot tried to land in a bad rainstorm, something about wind shear or some such thing. They didn’t make it and the plane broke up short of the runway. There were eighteen or so on board. No one made it, she said.

Were they bad? Amy asked.

What do you mean?

What kind of shape did they find them in?

Oh honey it was horrible. A doctor called me and advised that they should be cremated. I gave them permission. I’m so sorry. I would have wanted to see them one last time but it’s best we remember them as they were, Eleanor said.

A loud sob escaped Amy’s mouth as the tears rolled down her cheeks. Eleanor grabbed her, pulling her close, hugging her as she cried. She sat holding her until she was quiet again.

Why were you sitting down here? Eleanor asked.

I just figured you were on your way, grandma, she responded.

Well, let’s get back down to the house. What do you want to take with you?

I’ll run up and get my purse and a jacket. I won’t be long, Amy said. She crawled over her grandmother and opened the door. Eleanor smoked her cigarette and quietly waited, thinking about her son Eugene and his wife Margaret. She was well aware that neither of them had been very good parents to their daughter Amanda but she was certain they loved her as she knew her granddaughter had loved them. She let out a sigh as she saw the girl come out the front door of the building and down the steps. My, she is lovely, Eleanor thought. Such a beautiful young thing. Takes after her grandmother. She slid over on the seat making room for Amy as she climbed in the car. Without a word to the chauffeur, he started the engine and drove out to the street. He guided the quiet expensive vehicle through the traffic on 195, cut off to 114 and picked up Highway 60 which would take them most of the way. Amy and her grandmother were both quiet during the trip, deep in their own thoughts.

Amy was thinking back over the years about how little time her mother and father spent with her. Her English nanny, Emma and her grandmother raised her. Such an arrangement was certainly normal among the wealthy that made their home in Newport. The head cook at the house in New York also had the first name Emma. This confused Amy when she was just a little girl but she learned to love them both. She ran the names of half a dozen of her friends through her mind who were brought up the same way. The father was always away on business and the mother was busy with social events. It was fashionable among the elite to provide a nanny to look after the children, leaving the parents time to continue a life of pleasure without the mundane chores that came with little ones. She had always loved her Emma. She came to the big house when Amy was just a baby. Emma was just a young woman at the time, barely eighteen. She was thirty-eight now and still looked quite young but Amy always thought of her as an older woman. She was good to Amy, always giving and kind but then it was her job. Grandma had always found time for her and it wasn’t her job.

She would never be able to forget how much she missed her mother through the years. She was always so distant and formal. Both of her parents expressed their love for her both verbally and with affectionate hugs and kisses but never became close. She wondered if this pain in her chest would be with her forever. She was having a hard time accepting that they were both gone now and in such a terrible way.

It was past noon when they drove down Bellevue Avenue past the many large mansions built back in the 1800s by the very rich of the time. The owners who traveled to the ocean to escape the heat referred to these opulent homes as summer cottages. Many of the buildings were now open to the public except a few occupied year round. Grandma Eleanor’s mansion was one of those. When Amy was not at home in their large house on Long Island in New York the few times her parents were with her, she was with grandma here in Newport.

Amy looked up at the three-story structure as Johnathon turned into the driveway. This was certainly one of the smaller old houses with only twenty-six rooms situated on just four acres that touched the sea wall of the Atlantic. The driveway curved around to the front door where Johnathon stopped, jumped out and came around to open the back door for them. He helped Eleanor out and stepped back as Amy left the car. Emma was standing on the top step, waiting.

She came down to the drive and pulled Amy to her, hugging her tight.

I’m so sorry girl, you have to take comfort that your mum and dad are with the Lord, Emma told her with her old English charm. Come inside now and we’ll get cook to find something to eat.

She walked with them through the large entryway, down the long hall and into the dining room where three places had been set waiting for them.

The cook, Eloise Write, a heavy set woman who had been with the family for over thirty years came through the doorway from the kitchen. She hugged Amy and gave her a few words of comfort. Eloise also held the responsibility of housekeeper and was in charge of two maids, the chauffeur and the head groundskeeper. During their lunch, all of the staff made an appearance and expressed their sympathy to Amy and Eleanor. Amy watched the two maids as they brought in the food, and then carried off the empty plates and dishes. She wondered what motivated them to live and work in this large old place. Both were about her age. They were nice looking and could find a man with little effort. Celeste Lemans had come from France looking for an exciting new life in the states. The other one, Rita Wagoner was born and raised somewhere in Iowa and moved east to find the same new life. Amy sincerely hoped they both found someone to take them out of here some day. She didn’t know them very well but found them both very pleasant and friendly.

Will there be some kind of a funeral? Amy asked her grandmother as the table was cleared.

Well, I think we should plan something. Let’s go into the library and I’ll make some calls, her grandmother said as she left her chair. Amy followed along and opened the door for Eleanor when they reached the front of the house. The library was a bright cheery room with large windows all along the far wall. A fireplace to the left was surrounded by floor to ceiling bookshelves filled with a variety of novels and old classics. The furnishings were large and comfortable and to the right was a very old desk where Eleanor spent a great deal of time. Her grandmother moved to the desk and sat down. She picked up the phone and placed a call to the law firm in New York City and asked for Melvin Roth, the attorney who handled her son’s legal affairs.

Celeste came into the library carrying a tray, which held two liquor decanters and small glasses. She put the tray down on the coffee table in front of Amy and turned to leave.

Stay and have a glass with us Celeste, Amy said.

I should probably not do that miss Amy, it wouldn’t be proper, Celeste nervously responded, turning to look at Eleanor.

Well then come with me, Amy said. She picked up the bottle of brandy and two glasses and led the maid out of the room. She went up the wide staircase to the second floor, down the long carpeted hallway and opened the door to her suite. She held the door open for Celeste who hesitated in the hall.

Come on in, you won’t catch hell, Amy said.

The maid reluctantly came through the door and Amy closed it behind her. She walked across the large room, put the brandy and glasses down on a large library table and pulled out a chair for Celeste to sit. Amy went to the large dresser near the bed, picked up a pack of cigarettes and a lighter then came back and sat down with her. She poured them both a glass of the brandy, picked up her glass and tapped it against the glass Celeste picked up. Amy put the glass to her lips and drained it. She lit a cigarette and leaned back in the chair.

Drink up girl, it’s all right, Amy said.

It’s only the middle of the afternoon. Eloise will be very upset with me, Celeste said.

I’ll just tell her I needed someone to talk to, Amy said, pouring her glass full again, and then topped off the maid’s glass.

Where is your home Celeste? Amy asked her.

A small village in Normandy on the French coast near the channel, she responded.

How did you happen to come over here?

Through an employment agency. Many of the well to do families here in America desire servants from Europe. There are several agencies that advertise for both men and women to come to the states to work. I was afraid of being stuck in such a small place where I lived and longed to get out and see the world. What better place to go than here, Celeste said.

You must have had a boyfriend over there. How could you leave him?

What does it mean boyfriend?

I mean someone special. Someone you liked and spent time with.

Oh yes, there were boys but none to love me forever. There were only a few to choose from, she said.

Are you still a virgin? Amy asked.

Celeste thought a moment before she answered, trying to decide if she should be telling Amy personal things. She was certain this exchange she was having with Amy was not a normal relationship for a maid to have with the madam’s granddaughter. She finally decided and held out her glass for Amy to pour her more brandy.

I was but fourteen my first time with a boy. Love is more natural and free in my country than it seems to be here. I had many good times with four young men back home and a couple since I arrived here in Rhode Island, Celeste said.

I’ll be damned, Amy said. How old are you?

I shall be twenty next November. You can’t be much older than me, she said.

I’ll be twenty one next Fourth of July and I’m still a virgin, Amy told her.

Why?

Why what?

Why are you still a virgin?

Well for one thing I haven’t had that many opportunities to lose it, Amy said.

Lose what? Celeste asked.

Lose my virginity.

Oh, I thought you Americans called it losing your cherry, Celeste said.

What’s it like?

What’s what like, losing your cherry?

No, well that too, but I mean what’s it like with a man? Amy asked.

It is heavenly. It’s unbelievable. I can’t find the words to tell you. Have you ever been close enough to a man, not just anyone, I mean a good-looking man somewhere near your age? If you have been that close you can almost touch the field of energy that surrounds him. He will be all muscles and you will wonder about what is hanging between his legs and what his naked butt would look like or what his naked chest would be like to run your fingers over the skin or rub your naked breasts across him. I’m getting all warm just talking about it, Celeste said.

What does it feel like with him inside you? Does it hurt? Amy asked.

A little the first time, after that you want it again and again. Oh, look we have emptied the bottle of brandy, Celeste said pointing to the decanter on the table.

You sit right there, I’ll go get another bottle, Amy said as she jumped up from her chair and went out of the room. Celeste took a cigarette from the pack on the table and lit it.

She had drunk enough to get a good buzz on and was losing any inhibitions she had from fear of the housekeeper Eloise. When Amy came back, she held out her glass for another refill. When both glasses were full again and Amy was in her chair, Celeste continued.

Have you no experience with men? she asked.

Oh, I’ve seen them naked. The girls at school hired some male strippers to entertain at a party. There were three of them, all young and muscular and with large genitalia, Amy said.

What is this genitalia? Celeste asked.

You know, their thing and testicles.

Oh, you mean their cock and balls. Now these terms I learned from English lessons. Were these strippers hard?

What do you mean hard?

Were they hard. Did they have big erections sticking straight out?

"Well, one of the girls went a little