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THE DILEMMAby Barbara J. Olexer writing as Lorena Macklin
Bambi sat in her chaise longue in the dusk and scowled across thelawn at the fireflies flitting among the evergreens. It was a lovely sightwith the dark firs, pointed against the deep rose of the last glow of thesunset, and the tiny points of the insect lights glittering like fairy sparks.Behind her the house loomed, its windows black and blank, its whitepillars indistinct. She was thinking vaguely of many things, hersatisfaction in the comfortable possession of her ancestral home, herdissatisfaction with her silly mother and absentee father, the joys of being an only child, the loneliness of approaching old age.Her father had built the house, which was situated on a Marylandriver inBaltimore County. It would have been fine on the Eastern Shorebut not where it stood on a mere three acres of lawn and woods. But hermother had seen “Gone with the Wind” as a girl and had never got overwanting to be Scarlet O’Hara. And her idiotic father had given his ersatzsouthern belle anything she wanted. Had filled the house with ante-bellum antiques and allowed his wife to keep half-a-dozen Black servants. Fortunately, the servants had all had more common sense than
 
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either parent and none of themhad ever allowed themselves to be called“Mammy” or “Pork.”In every other way Bambi’s father had been an intelligent man.Intelligent enough to grow his sizable inheritance into an enormousfortune. She had never exactly understood what he did but whatever itwas he did it in Baltimore and The District and New York and Atlantaand San Francisco and other major centers of business and finance. Thushe was away from home a lot. While his wife had stayed at home andplayed lady of the manor to an audience consisting of her two daughtersand six servants. Occasionally, she was able to snare a few other sillywomen for tea or a couple of distant cousins for houseguests. But her actwas too shallow and obvious to hold anyone’s attention for long.Her mother had favored full skirts and low-cut bodices of dottedswiss or organdy. The fifties had seen her in her element with lots of petticoats to hold the skirts out and even long hoop skirts for evening.Bambi could dimly remember seeing her mother slowly descendthelong curving staircase, so graceful and at ease in such an evening gown.It was white with tiny dots of red and a red sash that rippled down thefront almost to the floor. She had stood at the foot of the stairs with herfather, who watched adoringly.Misty had been there, too.Fear shook Bambi as she remembered Misty. Her sister had been twoyears older and took after her mother. Neither was exactly beautiful butthey had a glamour that was better than beauty. Silly and shallow as theyhad both been, they had the power to fascinate her father. Bambi had nothad that power. It had made her very angry as a little girl and it stillmade her angry. She was not sorry for what she had done! Never! Mistyhad it coming.She turned her gaze from the fireflies to the river. It was almostcompletely dark but the stars were coming out. The river ran quietly andcalmly. It wasn’t deep but it was pretty wide. It was perfect for canoeingand swimming. Not that her family had ever availed themselves of it forthosepurposes. They had used it as a prop, much as they had the rosegarden. It made a handsome background and spoke of gracious living.But Bambi hadn’t been content to live graciously, spending hermornings cutting a few flowers and arranging them in vases; spending
 
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her afternoons dressing for tea on the lawn and then dressing anew fordinner; spending her evenings posing for her father’s admiration. Shehad demanded riding lessons, swimming lessons, skiing lessons. She haddemanded first a bike, then a car. She spent as much time as possibleaway from her impossible family. When she was twelveshe haddemanded to be allowed to go to boarding school. Looking back, shethought both her parents had been relieved and had sent her gladly.Well, fine, she had certainly been glad to go. Glad to get out of thatstultifying house and glad to get away from her parents who were bothhalf-insane, if not more. After the first couple of years she had contrivedto spend most of her vacations at the homes of friends or touring abroad.Escape, that was what she had wanted. And she had had it, too. She hadescaped to the real world, had made friends, had learned to dance and skiand swim and ride.She had scorned fashion and immersed herself inintellectual studies. Literature, languages, comparative religion,philosophy, psychology, parapsychology, the paranormal, archaeology,all was grist to her mental mill.Then her father died. Not suddenly, but by inches, failing graduallyas the cancer ate away at him. She learned then that blood is indeedthicker than water. Unwillingly, she had gone home, had sat beside hisbed, had gnashed her teeth at her mother’s wailing and whining.Unwillingly, she had promised when her father had insisted –promisedto take care of her mother when he was gone. She knew as well as he didthat her mother needed taking care of. Only she didn’t want to do it. Shedidn’t exactly hate her mother, not then, but she didn’t like her. Shedidn’t want to spend time with her, to listen to her stupid vaporingsandinsipid memories. What did she have to remember, anyway? Clothes.Only clothes.“Remember that evening gown I used to wear for your father?” hermother would say, lying back in the chaise longue. “The lavenderorgandy with the purple grosgrain belt.It had a sweetheart bodice and Ialways wore the amethysts and pearls with it.”“Two necklaces at once is vulgar,” Bambi would say, reclining onthe grass.
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