Nancy's face lit up at the idea, and she began to catch some of Faye's excitement. “I could develop all kinds of new sides to myself, couldn't I? Play the piano … a new walk …. I could even change my name.”

“Well, let's not leap into any of this. You don't want to feel you've lost yourself. You want to feel you've added to yourself. But let's think about all this. I have a feeling it's going to take us in some very interesting directions.”

“I want a new voice.” Nancy sat back and giggled. “Like this.” She lowered her voice by several octaves, and Faye laughed.

“If you do enough of that, Peter may have to give you a beard.”

“Terrific.” They were suddenly in a holiday mood, and Nancy got up and began to prance around the room. At times like that, Faye remembered how young she really was. Twenty-three now. Her birthday had come and gone, and she was growing up in ways many people never had to. But beneath the surface, she was still a very young girl.

“You know, I do want you to be aware of one thing though, Nancy.” She sounded more serious now.

“And what's that?”

“I think you should understand why you're so willing to try out a new you. It's not unusual for orphans, as you were, to feel unsure of their identities. You're not certain what your parents were like, and as a result, you feel as though a piece of you is missing, a link to reality. So it's a lot easier for you to give up parts of the person you once were than it would be for someone who retained very dear images of her parents—and all the responsibilities that entails. In some ways it may make things simpler for you.”

Nancy was silent, and Faye smiled at her as she sank back into the cozy chair near the fire. It was a wonderful room to see patients in: it set everyone instantly at ease. She had put her grandmother's Persian carpets to good use in the room, which also boasted splendid paneling and old brass sconces. The fireplace was also trimmed in brass, the curtains were old and lacy, there were walls of books, tiny paintings tucked away in unexpected corners, and everywhere was a profusion of leafy ferns. It looked like the home of an interesting woman, and that was exactly the effect Faye wanted. “Okay, it's take you some time to think about that. For the moment, there's another serious subject we have to get into. What about the holidays?”

“What about them?” Nancy's eyes closed like two doors, and the laughter of moments before was now completely gone. Faye had known it would be this way, which was why the subject had to be broached.

“How do you feel about the holidays? Are you scared?”

“No.” Nancy's face was immobile, as Faye watched.

“Sad?”

“No.”

“Okay, no more guessing games, Nancy. Suppose you tell me. What do you feel?”

“You want to know what I feel?” Nancy suddenly looked straight back at her, dead in the eye. “You want to know?” She stood up and strode across the room and then back again. “I feel pissed.”

“Pissed?”

“Very pissed. Superpissed. Royally pissed.”

“At whom?”

Nancy sank into the chair again and looked into the fire. This time when she spoke her voice was soft and sad. “At Michael. I thought he'd have found me by now. It's been over seven months. I thought he'd have been here.” She closed her eyes to keep back the tears.

“Who else are you mad at? Yourself?”

“Yes.”

“Why?”

“For making the deal with Marion Hillyard in the first place. I hate her guts, but I hate mine worse. I sold out.”

“Did you?”

“I think so. And all for a new chin.” She spoke with contempt where moments before there had been pride. But they were delving deeper now.

“I don't agree with you, Nancy. You didn't do it for a new chin. You did it for a new life. Is that so wrong at your age? What would you think of someone else who did the same thing?”

“I don't know. Maybe I'd think they were stupid. Maybe I'd understand.”

“You know, a few minutes ago we were talking about a new life. New voice, new walk, new face, new name. Everything is new, except one thing.” Nancy waited, not wanting to hear her say it. “Michael. What about thinking of a new life without him? Do you ever think about that?”

“No.” But her eyes filled with tears, and they both knew she was lying.

“Never?”

“I never think of other men. But sometimes I think about not having Michael.”

“And how do you feel?”

“Like I wish I were dead.” But she didn't really mean that, and they both knew it.

“But you don't have Michael now. And it's not so bad, is it?” Nancy only shrugged in answer, and then Faye spoke again, her voice infinitely soft “Maybe you need to do some real thinking about all that, Nancy.”

“You don't think he's coming back to me, do you?” She was angry again. This time at Faye, because there was no one else to be angry at.

“I don't know, Nancy. No one knows the answer to that except Michael.”

“Yeah. The son of a bitch.” She got up and paced the room again, and then like a windup toy winding down, the fury of her pacing slowed, until she finally stood in front of the fire, with tears rolling down her face and her hands clenched on the screen in front of the fire. “Oh Faye, I'm so scared.”

“Of what?” The voice was soft behind her.

“Of being alone. Of not being me anymore. Of … I wonder if I've done a terrible thing that I'll be punished for. I gave up love for my face.”

“But you thought you'd already lost everything. You can't blame yourself for the choice you made, and in the end you may be glad.”

“Yeah … maybe …” There were fresh sobs from the fireplace, and Faye watched the slim shoulders shake. “You know, I'm scared of the holidays too. It's worse than being back at the orphanage. This time there's no one. Lily and Gretchen left last month, and you're going skiing. Peter's going to Europe for a week, and …” She couldn't stop the tears. But these were the realities of her life now. She had to face them. Faye shouldn't be made to feel guilty for leaving, nor should Peter: they had their own lives, as well as their time with her.

“Maybe it's time you got out and made some friends.”

“Like this?” She turned to face Faye again and pulled off the soft brown hat, revealing a great deal of bandaging. “How can I go out and meet anyone like this? I'd scare them to death. Look guys, it's Dracula!”

“It isn't frightening looking, Nancy, and in time it'll be gone. It's not permanent. They're only bandages. People would understand.”

“Maybe so.” But she wasn't ready to believe that. Anyway, I don't need friends. I keep busy with my camera.” Peter's gift had been a godsend.

“I know. I saw your last batch of prints at Peter's the other day. He's so proud of them he shows them to everyone. It's beautiful work, Nancy.”

“Thank you.” Some of the anger drained out of her with the talk of her work. “Oh Faye…” She sat back in the chair again and stretched her legs. “What am I going to do with my life?”

That's what we're working on figuring out, isn't it? And in the meantime, why don't you think about some of what we talked about today? The voice coach, music lessons—something to amuse you, and all part of the person you'll become.”

“Yeah, I guess I will give it some thought. When are you coming back from skiing, by the way?”

“In two weeks. But I'll leave a number where you can reach me in an emergency.” Faye was more worried about Nancy's getting through the holidays than she was willing to admit. Holidays were prime time for depression, even suicide, but Nancy seemed solid for the moment. She just didn't want her to become hysterical in her loneliness. It was rotten luck that she and Peter were going away at the same time, but on the other hand Nancy had to learn not to depend on them too much. “Why don't we make an appointment for two weeks from today. And I want to see a mountain of beautiful prints you made over the holidays.”

“That reminds me.” Nancy Jumped up again and vanished into the hallway, where she had left a flat package wrapped in brown paper. When she returned with it, she smilingly held it out to Faye. “Merry Christmas.”

Faye opened it with a look of pleasure and then of awe. The gift was a photograph of herself that looked as though she had sat for it for hours, to allow the photographer to capture just the right look, the right mood It had a dreamy, impressionistic quality; she had been standing on Nancy's terrace with the wind in her hair, wearing a pale pink silk shirt; and the sun had been setting in red and pink tones behind her. She remembered the day, but couldn't remember Nancy taking the picture. “When did you take it?” She looked stunned.

“When you weren't looking.” Nancy looked pleased with herself, and she had every right to be. The photograph was magnificent She had printed it herself and enlarged it, and then had it handsomely framed. It was as expressive as a painting.

“You're incredible, Nancy. What a beautiful, beautiful gift.”

“I had a good subject.”

The two women exchanged a hug, and Nancy regretfully shrugged back into her coat “Have a wonderful ski trip.”

“I will. I'll bring you some snow.”

“Smartass.” Nancy hugged her again and they wished each other a Merry Christmas as she left There was a tug at Faye's heart after she was gone. Nancy was a beautiful girl. Inside. Where it mattered.





Chapter 12




“Mr. Calloway's on the line for you, Mr. Hillyard.” The snow had been falling for five or six hours on the already slush-ridden streets of New York, but Michael had noticed nothing. He had been at his desk since six that morning, and it was after five o'clock now. He grabbed for the phone while signing a stack of letters for his secretary to mail. At least the job in Kansas City was off his back. Now he had Houston to worry about, and in the spring he'd be getting ulcers over the medical center in San Francisco. His job was a never-ending stream of headaches and demands, contracts and problems and meetings. Thank God.