“You look terrible” were the first words out of her mouth as she stared at her mother and sat down across the desk from her without being invited to.
“Thank you. You, on the other hand, look great.” Deanna was casually dressed in one of her own designs, and meticulously put together as usual, with her dark hair tightly pulled back in a knot, a chic trench coat, and high heels. She was the epitome of fashion. Maddie was wearing baggy jeans and an old black sweater, with one running shoe on, and her crutches close at hand in case she needed them, since she couldn’t put any weight on her left foot.
“You look tired, Mother,” she said, studying Maddie’s face, as though looking for signs of an illness.
“I had a lousy weekend. I feel better today.” She had felt brighter as the day wore on, and was pleased that she had gotten a lot done for the Vogue shoot that week, despite her cast. She had even picked the music they would listen to during the session, which set the mood for the subject and the crew. “Did you come down here to check on me?” She smiled at her daughter and gave her the benefit of the doubt. Or maybe she had come to harass her about putting the firehouse on the market or hiring a live-in aide. Deanna always had an agenda. It was the way she worked.
“Actually, I came to talk to you about the benefit we need to give here. No other venue will work as well for us.” For the moment, selling the firehouse and hiring a caretaker for her mother were on the back burner. The benefit was the hot item of the day, and she had come to convince her mother in person. Deanna was on half a dozen boards and committees, and she was good at getting her way. She was fearless about asking for donations, expensive items for charity auctions, or, in this case, her mother’s house as the location for their cocktail party. “Everyone loved coming here last time.”
“The problem was, I didn’t love having them here. They were invasive, disrespectful, and you had twice as many people as you told me you would,” Maddie reminded her.
“We sold more tickets than we expected,” she said without apology. “We’ll put a limit on it this time.”
“I don’t want food dragged all over my house. I just don’t want the intrusion, Deanna. Or curiosity seekers turning up in my bedroom. I saw photos on Instagram afterwards of all the rooms where they weren’t allowed. If they can’t follow the rules, which they’ve already demonstrated, you can’t use the house. End of story.” She had to be firm with Deanna or she’d run right over her, as she did with everyone, at work and at home. It made her tough in business and got her results with sewers and patternmakers and textile mills. But Maddie didn’t like having her daughter’s powers of persuasion turned on her.
“I assumed you’d let us use the house again,” Deanna said, narrowing her eyes at her mother, “so I told them we could have it. We have to send the invitations out in a week. They’re already at the printer. We don’t have time to find another venue.” It was extremely presumptuous of her.
“Well, you’ll have to. I told you last time I wouldn’t do it again. It wasn’t a good experience for me. This is my place of business and my home, and I can’t have people screwing it up. I have delicate equipment here.”
“I didn’t think you meant it,” Deanna said plaintively, trying another tack, which wasn’t going to work for her either. As always, Maddie was gentle but firm, and could be as stubborn as her daughter.
“Well, I did. So you’d better get busy finding another location.” Deanna looked furious as she stood up. The gloves were off.
“I think that’s incredibly inconsiderate of you. Aren’t you afraid of how that will look? The great Madison Allen refuses to help a shelter for homeless children. It won’t do you any good in the press, if someone leaks that you refused.” And who would leak it? Deanna? She was capable of it.
“That’s blackmail,” Maddie said smoothly. “If that’s how you want to play it, I can’t stop you. But the answer is still no. This is my home, I have a right to protect it.”
“It’s a ridiculous place to live anyway. I hope you’re giving some serious thought to selling it now, after your disaster this weekend.”
“My ‘disaster’ had nothing to do with the firehouse. I could have fallen off a ladder just as easily on Park Avenue.”
“One of these days, you’ll fall down those stairs and break a hip or a leg,” Deanna said ominously.
“I hope not. I’m very careful.”
“You should at least put in an elevator if you want to stay for a few more years.”
“What about a wheelchair ramp?” Maddie said sarcastically. “I’m not incapacitated yet,” she pointed out again.
“No, but you will be before you know it. This is how it starts, with accidents at home, then you fall on the street and break a hip. You need to be sensible about this, Mother. You’re not as young as you think.” They were all low blows, and Maddie tried not to react. It was hurtful listening to her. “You should sell the place before you have another accident here.” Listening to her reminded Maddie of the alarm Deanna had suggested the day before, with a button to press for help if she fell. The thought of it made her want to cry. She hoped Deanna was wrong, and this wasn’t the first of many future accidents she had in store. It was a grim prospect. “David agrees with me, he thinks you should move out too. You could even invest in a unit in one of those apartment complexes with assisted living facilities you can move into later.”
“Do you suppose I could set up a studio there?” Maddie said wryly.
“You can’t work forever, Mother.” She was the only one of Maddie’s children who called her “Mother,” and made it sound like an insult. With one fell swoop, Deanna was suggesting that she retire, hire a caretaker, sell her house, move into assisted living, and wear an alarm. She was catapulting her mother into old age at fifty-eight. Maybe sooner or later it would happen. It probably would, but hopefully not for a long time. And some people stayed active, alert, and youthful, and even working, until they were very old. Maddie planned to be one of those.
Maddie was nowhere near wanting to give up the way she lived, and there was no need to. But Deanna saw it all happening on fast forward. Maddie hoped she wasn’t right. She felt as though she had her nose pressed against the glass, looking through a window at her worst nightmare, being old and infirm and dependent, no longer productive, and waiting for the end. What she envisioned for herself was working far into the future, at a great age, still expressing her talent, and leading a full life in her own home, not a retirement facility where she would end her days, however luxurious or genteelly disguised. Deanna was pulling back the curtain and showing her what it could really look like, in the worst case. It made Maddie feel as though her days were numbered. It seemed absurd at the age she was now, but maybe it wasn’t and Deanna was right. It was Maddie’s greatest fear.