Victoria

Victoria’s Secret

Bob Blackman

It was Saturday evening and the Royal family was gathered together in the den reading. Ten year old Victoria sat in the corner reading a book by Judy Blume about a young girl discovering the facts of life. She had carefully and deliberately situated herself beyond the visual range of her father.

Howard Royal sat in his leather-overstuffed wing chair engrossed in the Wall Street Journal. Mary Elizabeth sat across from him on the sofa reading a Harlequin Romance. She faced him, but never looked at him. Howard and Mary Elizabeth had been married for thirteen years. The love they once felt had withered long ago. The business, appearances, and of course, Victoria were all that kept their marriage intact. They had separate bedrooms and they rarely talked to each other.

For three hours they had been in the den reading. During that period, not a word was spoken by any of them. They were a family that practiced the principal; "Silence is golden." They rarely talked and they never watched television. Mary Elizabeth claimed the noise gave her headaches.

They were a family. They lived in the same house. They spent a great deal of time together, but they barely knew each other. They neither talked to each other nor even looked at one another.

The grandfather clock in the hall announced the hour as nine o'clock. As the final bell tolled, Jacquelyn, the maid, appeared in the doorway. She was, in Mary Elizabeth's opinion, a nearly perfect maid. She did her work well. She was always congenial, and most important, she had learned to mind her own business and not involve herself in the personal affairs of her employers.

"Miss Vicky," she announced, "It's time to get ready for bed. You'll have to finish your book tomorrow."

"Thank you Jacquelyn," Vicky answered without looking up.

Jacquelyn disappeared and Vicky finished the paragraph she was reading. She carefully inserted a bookmark and returned the book to its proper place on the bookshelf. As she approached the door leading from the den, she felt anxious tightening in her stomach. She did not turn around, but she could feel his eyes trailing after her.

She increased her pace and headed towards the long hall. She passed the grandfather clock and entered the bathroom, hurriedly opening the linen closet and talking out a freshly pressed, yellow bath towel. She carefully closed the linen closet door and hurried across the hall to her bedroom. She closed the door securely behind her and kneeling in the dark, she unfolded the towel and laid it across the base of the door, sealing the gap between the door and the carpet. The door properly sealed, Victoria took several deep breaths and the knot in her stomach eased. She sat on the floor with her back against the door and gazed slowly around the room, noticing only that the peach colored cafe style curtains were not completely closed. She moved to the window, which was over the far side of her bed and carefully sealed all the corners. Even with the curtains securely drawn there was an open area about twelve inches high along the top of the window, but no one of any reasonable height could possibly see in. Finally, she turned on the light that sat on her nightstand.

Victoria then opened the bottom drawer of her nightstand and took out a beautifully lacy, floor length flannel nightgown, which she laid, on the rocking chair that sat next to the door. Standing with her back to the window and her eyes fastened upon the door, she began to slowly unbutton her blouse. It was a tedious chore, for her blouse had long sleeves with tiny pearl buttons that began at the wrist and marched up her arm to the elbow. The sleeves unbuttoned, she slipped the blouse over her head. She then knelt down and meticulously folded it into a neat square before laying it on the rocking chair next to the nightgown. Next she unzipped her Calvin Kline blue jeans and let them slip down her legs to the floor. She stepped out of the jeans; and clad only in her white T-shirt and frilly white underpants, she knelt down again and folded the jeans into a neat package. Still on her knees, she slipped the T-shirt over her head and carefully folded it also. She then stood up and laid the jeans and T-shirt on top of her blouse before picking up the nightgown and slipping it over her head. Brushing the wrinkles from her nightgown, she stood erect and pivoted in a complete circle freeing any folds that might linger at the hem. Finally, she knelt down once more and folded the yellow towel. She laid the towel on the rocker and picked up the three folded garments, which she carried across the hall to the bathroom and deposited into the dirty clothes hamper. Dressing and undressing had become an elaborately orchestrated ritual that she had been carrying out for nine days. It had been exactly nine days since the violations had begun.

While in the bathroom, Victoria stood before the mirror and vigorously brushed her shiny, black, shoulder length hair. Upon completing the one hundredth stroke, she laid the brush back in its proper place, washed her face, brushed and then flossed her teeth. After a final look in the mirror, she went to tell her parents good night.

Victoria stood uneasily in the doorway into the den. She had purposely positioned herself, as best she could, to assure that her father's view was obscured by her mother who was still sitting on the sofa reading. As she spoke, she carefully hid her face behind her forearm while winding her fingers through a lock of hair.

"Good night mother and father."

"Did you brush your hair?" her mother asked without looking up from her book. The whole conversation was the same every night, like a pilot going through a pretake-off checklist. There was neither emotion nor visual contact between mother and daughter during what was the lengthiest conversation of the day.

"Yes mam."

"A hundred times?"

"Yes mam."

"Brush your teeth?"

"Yes mam."

"Floss?"

"Yes mam."

"Put your clothes in the hamper?"

"Yes mam."

"Clean up your mess in the bathroom?"

"Yes mam."

"Very well, good night."

Victoria turned and walked rapidly out of the room and down the long hall. Three times during the conversation he had glanced at her over his newspaper and as soon as she turned around she felt his gaze fondling her. Again the knot in her stomach tightened and tears began to well up in her eyes.

As she passed the grandfather clock in the hall, it chimed out the half-hour and completely drowned out her soft sobs. She went into the bathroom and removed her lacy blue socks, folding each one before depositing them into the hamper. She then hurried bare footed across the hall to her bedroom. Closing the door behind her, she took the towel from off the rocking chair and quickly unfolded it. She positioned it on the floor as to seal the gap between the door and the floor.

The task completed, she sat on the floor leaning with her back against the door, breathing deeply, and trying to relax. Although this was where it happened, she nonetheless felt most secure when she was in her bedroom and the bottom of her door was sealed. Her bedroom was so clean it appeared sterile. The walls, carpet, four poster bed, nightstand, highboy dresser, rocking chair and even the lamp were stark white. The only color in the room was her curtains and bedspread, which were a healthy peach tone, and a large poster hanging over her bed. The poster, a present from her now deceased great grandmother on her father's side, was her most prized possession. It was a picture of three kittens in a large basket. Aside from the poster, there was nothing in the room to indicate it was a child's room. There were no other pictures on the wall, and not a single doll, toy, stuffed animal or even a book in sight.

Behind the white louvered closet doors hung twenty or more pastel colored little girl dresses, but she hadn't worn any of them in the nine days since it had started. Now she wore only blue jeans and long sleeved blouses. She was unceasingly cautious that no part of her body be exposed that might reasonably be covered. Another mother might have become suspicious concerning her sudden change in wardrobe, but Victoria's mother never noticed what she was wearing.

As she sat with her back flat against the bedroom door, Victoria wondered how much longer this could go on. Why couldn't he just leave her alone? Even though she was always modestly dressed, she felt terribly uncomfortable in his presence. She sensed that he was ever watching her, lingering over her with his gaze. Whenever she would look in his direction, she'd see him quickly lower his eyes and pretend to be reading. The respect she had for him had given way first to embarrassment and finally to fear. She would no longer enter any room in which he was present unless her mother was also in the room, and she was careful always to sit where he could not see her without turning around.

It was the nighttime that bothered her most. When she was asleep things were beyond her control. No matter how hard she tried, she could not remove what had happened that night from her mind. She blotted the tears from her eyes with the sleeve of her nightgown and sobbed quietly. She wanted to tell someone, but she was too frightened and embarrassed. Just the previous evening she determined to tell her mother everything, but she knew her mother would never believe her. He had never so much as looked at her prior to coming to her bedroom just nine days ago. He had just returned from being away four days. During that four-day period, he had changed, but only she had seen the change, her mother was completely oblivious to it. Realizing the futility of telling her mother, she reconciled herself to keeping it a secret and handling it as best, she could.

The grandfather clock rang out the hour of ten o'clock, interrupting her thoughts and reminding her that she must get into bed. She crossed her room towards the bed and folded back the covers. Reaching over to the nightstand, she turned off the light and crawled between the sheets. She pulled the covers up to just below her nose, minimizing the portion of her body that could be seen. Lying on her back, she could see a half moon resting between the stars. She tried to forget the events of that first of nine midnight visits, but could not.

She was sleeping ever so lightly, dreaming about a fluffy black and white spotted kitten she often dreamed about, but knew she would never own. It was unthinkable that her parents would allow an animal in the house. As she lay there asleep, cuddling the kitten and listening to it purr, she gradually became aware that there was someone else in the room. He was standing at the foot of her bed. She could hear him breathing and, although she did not open her eyes, she knew he was staring at her.

She lay absolutely still. She wanted to scream, but held back everything but the slightest breath. In a few minutes, it was over, and he slipped quietly out the door closing it securely as he left. He never touched her or said a word, but it didn’t matter. Tears welled up in her eyes and she drew in a deep breath of air filling her small lungs. She held the air in her lungs for several seconds and exhaled with a sudden explosion. She breathed thusly for several minutes leaving her body floating in a melancholy dizziness.

Victoria continued to sob quietly until she drifted into a deep sleep. When she awoke on the tenth morning she saw the yellow towel draped over the rocking chair, and she knew instantly that he had been there again. She knew it was him because, had it been her mother, she would have been punished for leaving a towel on the floor. Her mother never mentioned the towel, so it had to have been her father. This was the ninth consecutive morning that the towel was draped over the rocker and, like each previous morning, she was frightened and ashamed. She sprang from the bed and grabbed the towel from the rocker, hurriedly resealing the door. With the door resealed, she quickly but expertly remade her bed, before going to the bathroom where she took a hot, almost scalding, shower. She cried while she showered and it seemed as if the tears cleansed her spirit as the hot water washed away her guilt. When her shower was completed, she dressed and made her way down the hall to the dining room for breakfast.

She entered the dining room as Jacquelyn was setting the last of three rosebuds on the table, one in front of each table setting.

"Good morning Miss Vicky, I trust you slept well. It looks like you're the first this morning. I've made some fresh blueberry muffins for breakfast. They're just about ready to take out of the oven. I'll get you some and be right back."

Victoria didn't bother to answer. Jacquelyn was entirely too talkative. "Perhaps," thought Victoria, "It's her station in life that compels her with the need to rattle on about such unimportant things." Jacquelyn often said more in a single sentence than the rest of the family said in an entire conversation. Jacquelyn returned to the kitchen and Victoria was left sitting alone in the dining room.

As traumatic as the events of the past two weeks had been for Victoria, they had been equally severe towards her father. It was ten days ago that Howard Royal first faced the crisis that caused him to reevaluate his priorities in life, and he concluded that in thirty-eight years; he had accomplished almost nothing that was of any true value.

As he headed home on that Friday afternoon, all his thoughts were on Victoria, his ten-year-old daughter. He had just come from a toy store where he had purchased a soft, cuddly, longhaired, life sized, black and white cat. Victoria had asked for just such a cat when she was seven or eight years old. At that time, his wife had vetoed the idea of a cat, but he couldn't remember why. He was not sure what had triggered the memory of her request for a cat, but he was genuinely pleased with himself for remembering. In his mind, the memory almost validated that he was a good father after all. When he arrived home however, Mary Elizabeth, his wife, viewed the cat in an entirely different light.

"How can you bring that thing into the house?" she shouted.

"It's a cat. I brought it for Victoria." He fumbled awkwardly with the stuffed animal, not knowing whether to hold it, set it down or give it to Mary Elizabeth.

"Are you trying to kill her?" She shook her finger as though she were talking to a naughty child. "You know she's allergic!"

Howard very much wanted to say something in rebuttal, but all he could bring himself to do was hang his head and say, "I'm sorry, I forgot." He gave the stuffed cat to Mary Elizabeth and retired to the den where he picked up a paper and began reading. That was the closest the two of them had come to a conversation in two years. Mary Elizabeth gave the cat to Jacquelyn who took it to the attic.

That evening Howard found that, as he sat across the table from Victoria, he could not keep himself from staring at her. He marveled that he had never before noticed how very black and deep her eyes were or how very fair her complexion. He gazed at her and smiled lovingly until she chanced to look up. In an instant their eyes met. It was something neither of them could remember ever happening before. He recognized that she was obviously upset by this encounter and as a result, he found himself embarrassed. Not knowing quite what to do, he excused himself and retired to the den.

He dared not look at her again all evening, but he could not release her from his mind. How, he asked himself, could he live in the same house with such a beautiful little girl and know nothing about her? He had seen her face, really seen it for the first time. How could he not have been aware of how pretty she was? More than anything in the world he wanted to get to know her. He wanted to talk to her, but if she became so visibly upset by a simple glance, how might she react to a conversation? Why had he never felt it important to get to know her before now?

That evening Howard found that he could not sleep. He heard the grandfather clock strike twelve, then one, two, and finally three o'clock in the morning. He tried to visualize her face but the image was too blurred. By the time the clock chimed three thirty he felt he could bear it no longer. He had to see her again. It could not wait until morning. He found his robe, put it on, and slipped quietly down the hall to her room. He stood at the foot of her bed and gazed lovingly at her. The brightness of the full moon shining through her window encircled her face. She was so very tiny and innocent. She was so precious and lovable, and she belonged to him. She had his round nose and dimples, and her shiny black hair literally glistened in the moonlight. He recalled that his own hair had once been that shiny and black, but now it was just a dull charcoal gray. He stood watching her for several minutes until tears began to fill his eyes and he quickly left the room for fear of awakening her. After that, he looked in on her every evening after everyone in the house was sleeping soundly. He was drawn to her by an emotion he had never felt before. He wanted to hold her in his arms, but he never touched her for fear of awakening her. He wanted to talk to her, but he never spoke to her because he saw how easily she was upset and didn't want to frighten her.

By the third night, he was beginning to recognize some of her peculiarities. He found himself greatly amused by the towel he found laying on the floor in front of the door each night. This beautiful little girl, who was meticulously neat, never failing to return things to their proper place, had a flaw that no one but he knew about. At night when she was tired, instead of taking her towel to the hamper, she would leave it lying on the floor in front of the door. It was a trait that was so terribly human. Mary Elizabeth never exhibited any human flaws. It must be a quality Victoria had inherited from him.

Because he saw how easily just being looked at upset her, he was careful to be discreet during the day. He would pretend to be reading and watch her over the top of his book or paper. He now knew exactly what she looked like and he was beginning to recognize her favorite books, foods, and clothes. He found the way she dressed to be most confusing. She seemed to like frilly, lacy little girl clothes, but she never wore dresses. Even on the warmest days she would wear long sleeve blouses and never shorts. Perhaps it was a fad, he thought, or perhaps she was just extremely modest. He almost asked Mary Elizabeth if their daughter had some kind of strange birthmark or skin disorder that she was tying to hide, but he concluded that Mary Elizabeth would not understand the question, so he never asked.

On this particular Sunday morning, ten days after he first became aware of his daughter, Howard awoke with a piercing throbbing pain deep in his abdominal cavity. He took two pain pills, but on this particular morning, they had little effect. He had first experienced the pain two weeks before.

The memory of those first few days were vivid in his mind. He didn't say anything to Mary Elizabeth, but simply checked into the emergency room of the hospital. He spent four days in the hospital and the pain was diagnosed as an extremely rare, fast growing, inoperable cancer.

On the second day at the hospital, his doctors informed him that he would be most fortunate if he lived another thirty days. That revelation had triggered the appraisal of his life wherein he concluded that his life had not amounted to anything of significant value. His business was profitable, but he hadn't built it; Mary Elizabeth's father had. His marriage was a farce, and he had few if any real friends. The only thing in the world that was directly the result of his being alive was Victoria, and he hardly knew anything about her.

Howard's wife had no idea what he was going through. He had never talked to her about it. When he called from the hospital to say he was going to be there a few days, Jacquelyn answered the telephone. He asked for Mary Elizabeth and heard her call to Jacquelyn that she was busy and to please take a message. Sure she was busy; she wanted to finish the last chapter of her book. It didn't matter that Mary Elizabeth was unaware it was he who was calling. He was frustrated, so he left a message that he had to fly to New York. He would leave from the office and not to worry, he would be home in three or four days. Four days later he left the hospital and spent five hours searching every toy store in town for a stuffed cat exactly like the one Victoria wanted.

He took a third pain pill, dressed and started down the hall to the dining room. Passing Mary Elizabeth's door, he knocked and she called back, "I'm going to sleep in, I don't want any breakfast."

When he reached the dining room, Victoria was sitting alone at the table. Perhaps it was the medication that so vastly distorted his behavior, but what followed was completely out of character. He stood behind Victoria and laid his hand on her shoulder. As she felt his fingers touch her body, Victoria's stomach twisted into a tight knot.

"Good morning sweetheart," he whispered. His voice was soft and loving. He bent forward and kissed her gently on the crown of her head.

In great fear Victoria jerked quickly away and ran sobbing towards her bedroom. She slammed the door closed, snatched the spread from her bed and quickly flung it against the door, sealing the opening between the bottom of the door and the carpet. With her face in her pillow, Victoria cried unceasingly, "God help me. O God, please help me!"

Howard Royal wasn't sure what was happening. He turned suddenly, took two steps after her, and a sharp pain charged through his body. He grabbed his side with both hands and collapsed to the floor.

Howard Royal's funeral was attended by over a hundred people, most of whom were business acquaintances. The preacher talked about his successful marriage in a time when divorce was so common. He praised Howard's dedication to his business and his quiet suffering. Mary Elizabeth cried as one after another, the mourners passed by to express their sympathy. Victoria stood beside her mother. She spoke to no one and expressed no emotion. She stared absently into space with but one thought running over and over through her mind, "I'm glad he's dead. I hate him, and I'm glad he's dead. She resolved never to share with anyone what he had done to her, but neither would she ever forgive him.

End