Taltos (Lives of the Mayfair Witches #3)(68)
Author: Anne Rice

Eugenia had taken some veal out of the refrigerator, little tender cuts for scallopini, which Michael had set aside for Rowan. She was frying these now, the way Michael had taught her, with sliced mushrooms and onions, already prepared, from a little plastic sack.

“God, that smells good, doesn’t it?” said Mary Jane. “I didn’t mean to read your mind, just happens.”

“I don’t care about that, it doesn’t matter. As long as we both know it’s very hit-and-miss, and easy to misunderstand.”

“Oh, absolutely,” said Mary Jane.

Then she looked at Mona again, the way she had looked at her upstairs. They were sitting opposite each other, just the way that Mona and Rowan sat, only Mona was in Rowan’s place now, and Mary Jane was in Mona’s. Mary Jane had been looking at her silver fork, and suddenly she just stopped moving and narrowed her eyes again and looked at Mona.

“What’s the matter?” asked Mona. “You’re looking at me like something’s the matter.”

“Everybody just looks at you when you’re pregnant, they always do, soon as they know.”

“I know that,” said Mona. “But there’s something different in the way you’re looking at me. Other people are giving me swoony, loving looks, and looks of approbation, but you—”

“What’s approbation?”

“Approval,” said Mona.

“I got to get an education,” said Mary Jane, shaking her head. She set the fork down. “What is this silver pattern?”

“Sir Christopher,” said Mona.

“You think it’s too late for me to ever be a truly educated person?”

“No,” said Mona, “you’re too smart to let a late start discourage you. Besides, you’re already educated. You’re just educated in a different way. I’ve never been the places you’ve been. I’ve never had the responsibility.”

“Yeah, well, I didn’t always want that myself. You know, I killed a man? I pushed him off a fire escape in San Francisco and he fell four stories into an alley and cracked open his head.”

“Why did you do it?”

“He was trying to hurt me. He’d shot me up with heroin and he was giving it to me and telling me that him and me were going to be lovers together. He was a goddamned pimp. I pushed him off the fire escape.”

“Did anyone come after you?”

“No,” said Mary Jane, shaking her head. “I never told that story to anybody else in this family.”

“I won’t either,” said Mona. “But that kind of strength isn’t unusual in this family. How many girls, do you think, had been turned out by this pimp? That’s the phrase for it, isn’t it?”

Eugenia was serving them and ignoring them. The veal did look OK, well browned and juicy, with a light wine sauce.

Mary Jane nodded. “Lots of girls. Idiots,” she said.

Eugenia had set down a cold salad of potatoes and peas, another Michael Curry gentleman’s special, tossed in oil and garlic. Eugenia plopped a big spoon of it on Mary Jane’s plate.

“Do we have any more milk?” asked Mona. “What are you drinking, Mary Jane?”

“Coca-Cola, please, Eugenia, if you don’t mind, but then I can certainly get up and get it myself.”

Eugenia was outraged at the suggestion, especially coming from an unknown cousin who was obviously a perfect rube. She brought the can and the glass of ice.

“Eat, Mona Mayfair!” Eugenia said. She poured the milk from the carton. “Come on now.”

The meat tasted awful to Mona. She couldn’t figure why. She loved this kind of food. As soon as it had been set before her, it had begun to disgust her. Probably just the usual bout of sickness, she thought, and that proves I’m on schedule. Annelle had said it would happen at just about six weeks. That is, before she’d declared the baby was a three-month-old monster.

Mona bowed her head. Little wisps of that last dream were catching hold of her, very tenacious and full of associations that were just moving away from her at jet speed as soon as she tried to catch them, and hold them, and open up the dream itself.

She sat back. She drank the milk slowly. “Just leave the carton,” she said to Eugenia, who hovered over her, wrinkled and solemn, glaring at her, and at her untouched plate.

“She’ll eat what she needs to eat, won’t she?” asked Mary Jane, helpfully. Sweet kid. She was already gobbling her veal, and noisily stabbing every bit of mushroom and onion she could find with her fork.

Eugenia finally ambled off.

“Here, you want this?” said Mona. “Take it.” She pushed the plate towards Mary Jane. “I never touched it.”

“You sure you don’t want it?”

“It’s making me sick.” She poured herself another glass of milk. “Well, I was never much of a milk lover, you know, probably because the refrigerator in our house never kept it cold. But that’s changing. Everything’s changing.”

“Oh yeah, like what?” Mary Jane asked, rather wide-eyed. She chugalugged her entire Coke. “Can I get up and get another one?”

“Yes,” said Mona.

She watched Mary Jane as she bounced towards the refrigerator. Her dress had just enough flare to remind you of a little girl’s. Her legs looked beautifully muscled, thanks to the high heels, though they had looked beautifully muscled the other day when she’d been wearing flat shoes.

She flopped back down and started devouring Mona’s offering.

Eugenia poked her head in the door from the butler’s pantry.

“Mona Mayfair, you didn’t eat nothin’. You live on potato chips and junk!”

“Get out of here!” Mona said firmly. Eugenia vanished.

“But she’s trying to be maternal and all,” said Mary Jane. “Why did you yell at her?”

“I don’t want anybody to be maternal with me. And besides, she’s not. She’s a pest. She thinks … she thinks I’m a bad person. It’s too long to explain. She’s always scolding me about something.”

“Yeah, well, when the father of the baby is Michael Curry’s age, you know, people are either going to blame him or you.”

“How did you know that?”

Mary Jane stopped gobbling, and looked at Mona.

“Well, it is him, isn’t it? I kinda figured you were sweet on him, first time I come here. I didn’t mean to make you mad. I thought you were happy about it. I keep getting this vibe that you’re really happy that he’s the father.”