The Bennet Women

by Eden Appiah-Kubi

  “Sex on the beach. I’m sorry—that’s what I’m thinking, looking at that dress.” He gave a comic wiggle of his eyebrows. “I’ll have a whiskey sour, thanks,” he finished.

  She giggled and hailed the bartender. “What do you do when not rescuing girls at bars?” she asked, launching the small talk.

  “I’m doing drama at UMass,” he replied.

  “Are you local?”

  “Nah, I’m from Philly. I came here because UMass is in the consortium with Longbourn, and I desperately want to take the drama seminar with Sir Titus Allen-Henry.”

  “Wow, the master himself,” she said reverently.

  “I hear he plays checkers with his Tonys and his Oscars,” Jordan joked. “I’d love to be in the presence of that much talent.”

  EJ certainly agreed. Sir Titus’s presence had helped draw her to Longbourn—and she was an engineer. He directed a production of The Tempest that EJ saw more than five years ago and still thought about from time to time. “I get it. I helped build sets for the Drama department’s showcase my sophomore year so he would wave to me. He did,” she added in a whisper.

  Jordan shot her a sideways smile. “I had my audition yesterday, just waiting now. They usually don’t let kids from the consortium in—or underclassmen—but I’m pretty sure I nailed it.”

  “Cheers to you!” They clinked their glasses. Then EJ furrowed her brow. “Wait, ‘underclassmen’? Did I commit a crime?”

  Jordan laughed. “No, you’re fine. I’m twenty-two. I had to take some time off between high school and college . . . not by choice, but that’s a sadder story for another time.” He looked at her with a wicked smile. “Maybe breakfast?”

  “I’m generally not in the habit of hooking up with strange boys, but let’s see how you dance.”

  EJ didn’t change partners again that night. When they weren’t dancing together—and God he could move—she and Jordan were huddled at a back table sitting really, really close to each other. Jordan was a great storyteller, and even in the noisy club, she liked listening to him talk. He told her about making cheesesteaks for the Roots at a summer job and falling in love with musicals by catching On the Town on Turner Classic Movies. It was at this point that EJ decided she was definitely going home with him. She made a point to introduce Jordan to Franz, who kissed her on the cheek and said, “Look at you, moving up in the world.” Then Jordan hailed an Uber for his place, and they made out in the car.

  By the time they arrived at his apartment, EJ wanted to do everything to and with Jordan. She couldn’t remember the last time she’d felt this turned on while still fully clothed. Jordan surely felt the same. His eyes seemed to sear her skin.

  If looks could strip, EJ thought, I’d be naked right now.

  They’d barely closed the door to his apartment before they were exchanging frenzied orgasms in his living room. Then they drank water—a lot of it—and flirted and somehow got onto the topic of Kris Jenner: Jordan called her his role model. EJ didn’t know who she was and suggested going to bed so she wouldn’t have to admit it. They slept, loosely tangled in each other. The next morning EJ woke up to kisses on the back of her neck, then moving along the curve of her shoulder.

  “Good morning,” she said with a sleepy smile. It took her a moment to remember that she’d gone to bed in her underwear. Thank God I wore cute undies, she thought as Jordan leaned in for a kiss. They made out at a more leisurely pace but put the brakes on actual sex once they realized neither of them had another condom. “Didn’t I promise you breakfast, anyway?” He offered EJ his hand and helped her out of bed.

  They showered together, then returned to his bedroom to get dressed. Facing the mirror on the back of the door, EJ slid on her dress from the previous night. Jordan came up behind her and grunted lustily. “That dress.”

  EJ raised her eyebrows in the mirror. It was cute but distinctly, purposely not a sexy dress. Perhaps a little on the short side, but it was a baby-doll dress with a solar-system print and a bit of swing in the skirt. “Do you have a Miss Frizzle fetish I should know about?”

  “Maybe.” He looped an arm around her waist and lightly bit the shell of her ear. EJ suppressed a shudder.

  “Sure I can’t convince you to get back in bed?” he asked too sweetly. “It wouldn’t be too risky. I mean, I couldn’t help staring at this in the shower”—he squeezed her ass—“and I noticed that you’re on the patch.” He began planting kisses on her neck while sliding his hand up her dress.

  There’s nothing less sexy than gonorrhea, EJ thought to herself, repeatedly. It was a helpful hint from a former Bennet RA. “When a truly yummy dude is trying to tempt you into unsafe sex, just imagine telling future partners about your STI.”

  She deftly slid away from him, humming “Some Other Time,” from On the Town.

  “That’s not fair,” he pouted. “You can’t use my favorite song from my favorite show against me.”

  EJ raised her eyebrows at him again. “You’re the one talking about ‘unfair’?”

  Jordan gave another one of his wicked half smiles. “I had to try,” he said sheepishly.

  Did you? EJ thought with a prick of irritation. Really? But everything up to this point had been quite lovely, so she let it go. “I’ll find my leggings, and we can get out of here.”

  Jordan was pulling on his jeans. “Pretty sure they landed on the ceiling fan,” he replied. He was smirking, just a little.

  EJ was stuck halfway between smiling and rolling her eyes. “Thanks, I’ll be ready in a sec.” With that she went into the living room.

  They had breakfast—well, brunch—at a full-service deli near his place. Over the meal Jordan talked about life as the oldest sophomore in his class, and EJ talked about Longbourn and its many quirks. He was especially interested in Bennet House.

  “That would make a great TV show,” he said, sipping his coffee. “All that sisterhood, and solidarity, and pants-off dance-offs.”

  “Hey! There was only the one,” EJ objected. They moved on to their favorite books and music preferences until there was a natural lull. She put her plate to the side and asked a question lingering from the night before. “I understand if you’re not comfortable sharing, but what caused your ‘gap year’ so to speak?”

  “Where to begin?” Jordan sighed. “Well you’ve probably gotten this going to Longbourn, but everything Fitzgerald said about the rich is still true. What happened to me? Basically, I pissed off the wrong rich kid, and paid for it. There was this guy—he’s a TV actor now, Will Pak . . .”

  Jordan seemed to check her face for any recognition. EJ shrugged blankly as her stomach dropped. Over the next several minutes, EJ listened as Jordan told her how Will Pak had ruined his young life.

  Jamie

  Don’t laugh. Don’t laugh, Jamie told herself as she watched Tessa’s jaw drop. Because of her very open and sex-positive sister, EJ had a frankness about these things that shocked people. Especially since somehow they got the impression that butter didn’t melt in her mouth. EJ wasn’t the Queen of Slutsville by any means, but her girl did like sex and talked about the mechanics of her encounters like other people talked about impressive plays at a baseball game.

  Jamie couldn’t hide her smile of amusement as she watched Tessa listen to EJ finish her hookup story. “But we used the condoms I brought for round one and the”—tongue pop—“the night before. He didn’t have anything, so we got each other off with our hands. I was disappointed, but no matter how good it would have been, I literally don’t fuck with unwrapped dick.”

  Tessa dropped her fork, still loaded with waffle and whipped cream. “Elizabeth Jacqueline Davis!” she cried.

  Jamie choked out a laugh. Tessa shot her a look.

  “I can’t believe any of this. Especially you going off with a strange man. You could have been kidnapped. Or killed!”

  “Ever since you watched Looking for Mr. Goodbar in that seventies film class, you’ve been worse than my mother,” EJ huffed. “I
was not only safe—I was Bennet safe. I had my own condoms and wouldn’t fuck without one. My birth control is up to date, and I went in with realistic expectations.”

  Oy, Eej loved passing down the wisdom of “Bennet safe.” It had become part of house programming in the ’90s. The way EJ told it, back then one of the Bennet House RAs noticed how woefully unprepared Bennet Women were for the world of casual sex. She developed the concept of “Bennet safe” and reworked her orientation talks, making sure that her dormmates knew how to use condoms and dental dams, where to get contraception, and that sex does not equal love. According to the alumni magazine, that RA had since gone on to a successful career in public health.

  “She even texted me his address and a picture,” Jamie chimed in, pulling up the grainy paparazzi-style photo. Even in the dim light, it looked like EJ had bagged one of the better Hemsworths. Jamie showed the photo to Tessa, who nodded appreciatively.

  “Well, damn,” Tessa said, sitting back in her chair. “I have nothing further.”

  Jamie giggled and then looked at EJ. On campus, hookups were one thing, but this—it was something different from her little engineer. Really, truly out of character for her. “I can’t believe you hooked up with some rando,” Jamie said, elbowing her friend in the side. “You swore off complete strangers after the incident with the French dude on the ferry to Mykonos.”

  “He was that regrettable,” EJ agreed.

  “What made this guy the exception?” asked Tessa. “Besides the obvious.”

  “The obvious was a big factor. I think the only person with a better body in like three towns is our resident celebrity—and he’s attractive for a living. Also, Jordan was charming, a good dancer, and I guess I needed a little fun.”

  “And was it fun?” Jamie inquired.

  EJ couldn’t help her wicked smile. “Yes, surprisingly so. In my limited experience with the very, very good-looking, i.e., Monsieur Mykonos, they tend to expect worship and don’t do much to ensure your good time. Jordan was a gentleman in all things: ladies first.”

  Jamie could tell that EJ wanted to wink but thought better of it.

  “Soooooooo are you going to see him again?” asked Tessa.

  “I don’t expect to. We didn’t exchange numbers or anything. I’m content to let it be a sunset—beautiful and then gone.”

  Again, out of character. Eej would usually text back and forth with her hookups before they disappointed her. Even Mykonos hung around for an extra half a day.

  Jamie demurred. “I dunno. I saw the way that very hot man kissed your hand when he dropped you off. There might be something there.”

  EJ shook her head definitively. “He’s also two towns away and two years behind me—”

  “Cradle robber! He’s nineteen?” Tessa cried laughingly.

  “No, he’s twenty-two, but a sophomore. It’s a long story and not mine to tell.” EJ shrugged. “I don’t want to start something I can’t finish, and I know I don’t want to be in Massachusetts in a year.”

  “But you have such a great story!” Tessa protested. “The dance-floor rescue is just so romantic. I could totally see it shot in black and white with some sexy jazz music. I’m convinced great couples come from great stories. My parents met in a laundromat, and they divorced when I was five.”

  “Even so, T, I’m gonna stick with the sunset.” EJ spread her hands across an invisible horizon and let that be the final word.

  They got onto the subject of Jamie’s attempt to change advisors as she revealed that hers was unequivocally sexist and transphobic—something Jamie had learned only after her transition. EJ suggested dropping the phrase my friend at the ACLU into her next conversation with the dean.

  Brunch ended on the subject of what Tessa should do with her hair. Tessa was on Team Cut It. Jamie was on Team Dye It. Eej was on Team Why Not Both? The friends talked until the dining hall began closing to prep for dinner, when they ended their time together reluctantly.

  “Hey, EJ,” Jamie said as they walked out the cafeteria doors. “Still up for Scrabble at Will’s tonight? It’s the final game night while we’re all still here.”

  “I completely forgot,” she replied. “I think I promised Dia I would have dinner with her and her sister. She’s a civil engineer in New York.”

  Look at Tinkerbelle networking! Jamie thought, giving her friend a small smile. Then she stopped short. “Hold the phone, Joan. You and Dia were talking about this in the hallway yesterday. You told her you couldn’t make it because of game night.”

  EJ squirmed uncomfortably. She was such a terrible liar that she attempted it only when panicked. But why?

  “What’s going on, Eej?” Jamie asked with a troubled frown. “You don’t usually lie to me, even tiny ones.”

  EJ sighed. “Look, I didn’t want to put you in a bad position, but I can’t hang out with Will anymore.”

  Jamie wanted to scream. This was the worst possible moment for EJ to turn cold on Will. “Why?” she exclaimed. “I mean, I thought you guys were doing okay now.”

  EJ’s arms were folded, and she couldn’t look Jamie in the eye. “We were. It’s just, I found out some things, and . . . I can’t keep his company.” She tried to walk away, but Jamie stopped her.

  “What things?” she asked earnestly. “If it’s that bad, why won’t you tell me? Does Lee know?”

  She shook her head. “I can’t say—about anything, really. It’s not my story to tell, and I was asked not to tell it.” She looked around helplessly. “I don’t know what Lee knows, and I don’t think I could prove what I heard. It’s too complicated. The best thing for me to do is stay away.” EJ patted her arm. “I will do my best not to make things awkward for you and Lee.”

  “But!” It was all Jamie could get out. This was bad. But how could she explain without breaking Lee’s trust or spoiling Will’s surprise? Her mind whirred, trying to think of something to say.

  “I wish things were different. Sorry, honey bun.” With that, EJ headed to the library, leaving a puzzled Jamie in her wake. Quickly, she dug out her phone and sent a text to Lee.

  EJ

  Bennet House was quiet and still. Only those unlucky underclassmen still waiting to take exams remained, along with their RAs—who were obliged to stay until their residents were gone or the dorms were closed. There was at least one who didn’t mind. EJ was watching a gentle snowfall from the window seat in the common room. She was near weightless with relief. Her coursework was completed. Her capstone was defended. Her presentation prospectus had been submitted to the National Society of Black Engineers. In short, everything was done.

  Next semester would be the first time in her academic life she’d be taking it easy. She was also looking forward to competing in ballroom again, not just teaching. EJ had enjoyed coaching the newbies in the fall, but it had been hard for her to stay on the sidelines. The spring offered two big competitions, and she’d have January and some of February to get herself back up to gold standard. She couldn’t wait to start.

  EJ gazed out the window, immersed in her happy thoughts until she registered the hiss-thwomp of a large suitcase being dragged down the stairs. Dia emerged from the landing. She spotted EJ and waved happily. “There you are! I have something for you.”

  The younger woman jogged over with a sparkly oblong package in her hand. “I finished it last night.” She rocked on her heels as EJ carefully unsealed the tape from either end to reveal a long, wide scarf, made with more love than skill.

  “Oh wow!”

  “I did the knitting workshop in October and haven’t been able to stop.”

  Clearly, EJ thought with a soft chuckle. She was wearing a hand-knit scarf, and her curls were mostly hidden by a hand-knit hat that was slightly too big. She was sure Dia’s whole family was getting scarves this year.

  “Do you like it?” Dia asked hopefully.

  “Yes, I really do. It’s so soft. And in Longbourn colors! I love it.” EJ was especially partial to homemade gifts, wh
ich her friends either loved or hated about her, depending on the skills they possessed.

  “I know how much you love Longbourn, and I feel like you helped me love this place, too.” With a small jump, Dia embraced her RA. “Thanks for everything. Merry Christmas.” As Dia let go, her phone rang.

  “That’ll be my big sister Dylann.” Dia dropped her voice. “The one from New York. We’re flying home together,” she added brightly. She wheeled her suitcase toward the door. EJ could see Dia’s sister in the car with their cabdriver. “You two should definitely get coffee next time she comes this way. She’s an engineer, too. I think I mentioned that. Hold on.” Dia turned and screamed out the door, “Dylann, come give EJ your business card.” The petite freshman turned back to EJ and beamed. “I make things happen.”

  Moments later, a tall woman with ash-blonde hair and Dia’s face came to the door. She shot a crooked smile at her sister. “Apparently I should give you my business card,” she began, offering it to EJ, who crossed the room and took it with mild apprehension.

  Dylann continued. “Women need each other in this field. I would love to talk with you—in person or remotely—sometime next year. Don’t hesitate to call.”

  “Thanks, I will get in touch.”

  “Good,” Dylann said as she walked a beaming Dia to their waiting cab. On the way out Dylann paused, holding the cab’s door, silently asking how her sister had done with the international thumbs-up or thumbs-down sign. EJ responded with a three-fingered “A-okay.” Dylann nodded as if to say, “I’ll take it.”

  After a goodbye lunch with Tessa, EJ finally started packing. She waited until after her residents were gone so she could blast her music with the door open. Dropping the needle on her vinyl of Back to Black, she vowed to be finished by the end of the album. She was retrieving her favorite sneakers from beneath her bed when she noticed some awkward percussion interfering with the horns. Sitting up, she saw Will leaning against her doorjamb, hand raised to knock again. Despite his gentle approach, she was surprised.