"Really? I thought . . . Oh. Well, you should give consideration to the value of that property and the potential a marriage would bring to our families and ourselves."
I said nothing until we reached my house. He started to get out to open my door, but I jumped out of the car and slammed the door before he could come around.
"Good night, Olivia," he said. "Can I see you again?"
"See me again," I said nearly laughing. "I think you're a sick, disgusting individual. I don't want to ever see you again," I said and rushed up the steps and into the house.
Both of my parents were still up, my mother reading, my father watching the late news on television. He lowered the volume immediately after he set eyes on me. Mother put her book on her lap and smiled. A few moments after looking at me, however, that smile evaporated.
"What happened?" Daddy asked, his eyes small. I couldn't hide my emotions from him. Besides, my hair was messed and I looked like I had tumbled down a hill.
"Clayton is an oaf," I replied.
"What happened?" Mother asked, her lips trembling in anticipation.
"He was not the gentleman he pretends to be," I said. "Let's leave it like that. Okay?" I followed looking at Daddy.
"All right," he said. "No harm done, I suppose."
"Fortunately, no," I said and marched up the stairs to my room. When I looked at myself in the mirror and saw how disheveled I looked, how far I was from the pretty, put-together young woman I had been earlier in the evening, I started to cry. Then I sucked in my tears, telling myself this is just what Belinda would do.
Only, . . . Belinda probably wouldn't have put up as much of a battle.
In the days that followed, Daddy never mentioned my date nor asked any questions. Whenever I saw Harrison Keiser, I noticed that he looked away. I imagined Clayton had told a different story, blaming me for the failure of the relationship.
Mother concluded it just wasn't meant to be. Sometimes she had a fatalistic attitude, especially when it came to romance. About five days following my disastrous date, my only date in a year, she stopped at my bedroom and knocked on the opened door.
"How are you doing, Olivia?" she asked and immediately grimaced in anticipation of an unpleasant response.
"I'm all right, Mother."
"I'm sorry your date with Clayton wasn't a success." "I'm not. I'd hate to imagine what life would be like married to such a creature."
She smiled and sat on my bed. My mother and I had never really had what other daughters called their mother-daughter talks. Most of what I knew about men and about sex I had taught myself. On a number of different occasions, Mother had tried to get into an intimate conversation with me, but neither of us was very successful at it.
"Sometimes," she began this early evening, "I feel to blame for your . . . present situation. I feel I should have done more to help you find someone, Olivia."
"That's silly, Mother."
"No, no, it's not," she insisted. "My mother did a great deal to help me. She was a very understanding, very sensitive woman, a great companion."
"I'll be just fine," I said.
"Of course you will, dear. You are too intelligent not to succeed in every way. I know you're far more intelligent than I am, even more intelligent than your father, although I would never dare tell him that."
I started to protest, but she put up her hand.
"Sometimes, however, it's better for a woman to seem less intelligent, Olivia."
"What?" I started to smile, but saw an expression on her face I hadn't seen before. She looked suddenly wiser, more perceptive.
"Sometimes, a woman can't be as headstrong or as direct as a man. Most of the time, in fact. Instead, she has to be more subtle, a bit of a conniver. You have to learn how to play a man like an instrument to get what you want or get him to do what you want."
I sat back, a bit shocked..
"What are you saying, Mother?"
"That there's a secret to forming and
maintaining a good relationship with a man and that secret is simply to let the man think he's always in charge. Whenever I want something, really want something, I manage to get your father to think he wanted it first, that it was his idea. That way, he doesn't feel he's being manipulated, you see."
She leaned toward me and smiled.
"Even though he is."
I snapped back as if a rubber band held me on the seat.
"That's not true, Mother. Daddy knows exactly what he is doing all the time and he never does anything without evaluating the consequences thoroughly."
"Of course, he doesn't," she agreed. "But how he evaluates it and how he reaches a conclusion is my little secret. I think you have to relax more when you're in the company of men, Olivia. You act as if . . ."
"As if what, Mother?"
"As if you have to compete, to win something, to show them up, and men just don't appreciate that in a woman. You have to work on being more subtle."
"Be more like Belinda, is that what you're saying?"
"I suppose, in a way," she admitted, nodding.
"And get pregnant and pop out babies in my room in the middle of the night?" I shot back. She stiffened. "Of course not, dear. You have to know when to say no, when to be firm."
"As long as you give them the impression it's their idea to stop, too, is that it?"
"Yes," she said.
"Frankly, Mother, I don't want to be that sort of a woman, that sort of a person. I want to always say exactly what I feel and be as honest as possible and if a man can't stand that, he's not the man for me."
"Oh. Pity," she said softly, more to herself than to me.
"I don't think so, Mother."
She looked at me a long moment and then sighed deeply.
"I just want you to be happy, Olivia."
"I will be happy, Mother, but on my own terms, with self-respect," I insisted.
"Very well. You're so smart, Olivia. I'm sure you'll find the right man and make the best wife and marriage."
She stood up and gazed around my room a moment.
"You might do something about brightening your room, dear. Have the walls painted, get new curtains and a new bedspread. It will be easy to get your father to agree to that," she added.
"By making it seem his idea?"
"Yes, exactly."
"I'm fine, Mother. I'm fine as I am," I said.
She nodded and then turned to leave, pausing at the doorway.
"If you ever want to talk, Olivia, I want you to know I'll always want to talk, too."
"Thank you, Mother. I won't die an old maid. I promise," I said.
She smiled as if I had uttered the magic words and then she left.
I gazed at myself in the mirror.
How can you be so certain of that, Olivia Gordon? Who is out there, waiting for a woman like you?
Surely someone, I thought, someone who won't mind that I have brains, too.
I was about to get up and prepare for dinner when I heard Daddy's heavy footsteps on the stairs. I knew he was practically running and I went to the doorway.
"Olivia," he said, "you've got to come with me." "What is it, Daddy?"
His face was flushed.
"Embarrassment, utter embarrassment. I received a call from the finishing school's chief administrator, Rosemary Elliot, just a little while ago."
"What?"
"Your sister has been expelled for . . . immoral activities."
4
Always a Bridesmaid
.
Daddy and I left without telling Mother any
details. Daddy simply said we were going to bring Belinda home. Actually, he didn't know any details either.
"All Mrs. Elliot would say," he told me after we left, "is I must come to take her off the property. She wouldn't discuss the matter over the phone, but would wait for our arrival at her office. It sounds very bad, very bad. What could Belinda have done?" he wondered aloud.
"Knowing Belinda and what she has
done recently, anything imaginable," I replied dryly.
Daddy said nothing. We rode in silence for a while.
"What will you do about her now, Daddy?" I asked. "There is still a great deal of summer left and you've got to make plans for the fall. She's not registered in any other school." He sighed and shook his head.
"I don't know, Olivia. What do you suggest?"
"How about the Foreign Legion?"
He almost smiled.
"I guess we'll have to find something for her to do at the office for the remainder of the summer at least," he said.
"Why don't we wait to see what horrible things she has done at the school, Daddy? If it's as bad as they seem to suggest, you might want to put her under house arrest. I'm serious," I said when he glanced at me. "Don't permit her to socialize or go on dates, to the movies, to the beach. She has to learn sometime. You're always telling me to find something
worthwhile from every situation, no matter how bad that situation is. Well, do the same here," I concluded.
He was silent again. Why couldn't he agree? Finally, why couldn't he do something about Belinda before she ruined our family?
My own memories of the finishing school returned as we approached the beautiful grounds and buildings. While I was there, I had made only one real friend, Katherine Hargrove from Boston. We studied together, revealed our thoughts about boys and the other girls at the school to each other and promised each other we would stay in touch, but shortly after we left the school, Katherine became engaged to the boy back home her parents had wanted her to marry. I received a few letters and wrote back. She invited me to her wedding, but I didn't attend. I made up some excuse about being too involved with my father's business, and I know she was offended. She wrote no other letters, not even a postcard, never called and never responded to the one letter I wrote months afterward.
How easily friends drift apart, I thought. It was almost as if we became different people once we were apart, and the people we were and whom we knew became strangers to us. I realized I should have been at her wedding, but it bothered me that she was engaged and getting married while I hadn't even struck up an acquaintance. Everyone else at the school had predicted I'd end up an old maid and I knew many of those girls would be there, smiling smugly, convinced their prophecies would prove true. I should have had the courage to face them down, I thought, for Katherine's sake as much as my own.
No, I wasn't perfect. I was capable of making mistakes, but nothing I did ever approached Belinda's errors and sins. She was so much of a problem, I was practically overlooked. Even in our younger days, I found myself neglected, found Daddy paying more attention to her because she was such a handful for our mother. How many intimate father-daughter talks had Belinda enjoyed? How many times had he done what he was doing now: running to her rescue? Yes, I told myself, I did resemble the good child in the Biblical parable of the prodigal son, wondering if being dutiful, productive and responsible wasn't the reason I was being ignored when I needed attention and affection as much Belinda.
We went directly to the administrative building and the head mistress's office. When the secretary saw us, she practically fainted, her blood draining from her face in anticipation of some ugly and unpleasant scene. What could Belinda have possibly done? I wondered, now struggling with my own imagination to think of something that would merit such a reaction.
"Mrs. Elliot will see you," she said a moment after going in and out of the office. She stepped away from the door as if touching us might contaminate her.
Mrs. Elliot, a woman of about sixty with bluishgray hair and gray eyes, rose from her wooden desk chair. She was only about five feet five, but her demeanor, the power in her eyes, the stiffness in her shoulders and her imposing bosom rising with each deep breath made her look much taller. She had an emphatic chin and strong, masculine, pale red lips, now pressed tightly together in an effort not to frown or scowl.
"Please have a seat, Mr. Gordon," she commanded, gesturing to a chair. She looked at me, deciding whether or not to invite me to stay.
"I'd like Olivia to be here," Daddy said quickly.
"Yes, that will be fine. Olivia was one of our better students. I can understand your reliance upon her. We had expected the same high quality behavior from your younger daughter," she added dryly. "Which makes all this that much more of a
disappointment," she continued with her eyes small and dark.
"What happened? Why are you expelling her?" Daddy asked, his body still tense, his hands gripping the arms of the chair so hard the veins were embossed around his knuckles.
"I'll get right to the point, Mr. Gordon, even though this is all quite unpleasant to imagine, much less to discuss. I don't want to pretend everything has always been perfect here at our school. We have had our share of problems. Our girls come from diverse backgrounds and from many places. We're bound to experience some difficulties. After all, we're educating young people, some of whom haven't had the best possible upbringing.
"Girls have had liquor in their rooms, broken curfew, violated no-smoking regulations, not kept their rooms in proper condition. Olivia knows that to be true while she was here herself," she said nodding at me. I nodded quickly. "We have, on occasion, had a male visitor remain too long, but never, never have we had a young girl bring liquor into her room, permit smoking and entertain two young men at the same time all evening," she added without pausing for a breath.
"What?" Daddy asked, as if he hadn't heard anything she'd said. "Entertain two . ."
"Entertain, you understand, Mr. Gordon, is rather a euphemistic term for what occurred." She looked at me and then back to him. "Both young men were disrobed and in the same bed with your daughter, who was also naked," she said and swallowed as though she had just taken a tablespoon of castor oil.
Daddy stared.
"Both?" he finally said.
"I'm afraid so, Mr. Gordon. Mrs. Landford, the housemother, came upon them herself when she smelled the smoke and heard the laughter. The two young men were quite inebriated and would have been arrested if it weren't for the need to protect the reputation of the school, and, as much as possible, your own good name. However, they were brought before the local magistrate discreetly and given a sentence of probation. They are not from any area school, I might add. They are . ." She looked at me. ". . boys from the nearby village. Garage mechanics," she concluded with some difficulty.
"Christ," Daddy said.
"You can understand now why we are all this upset, Mr. Gordon."
Daddy nodded.
"I'd like this all to simply go away and the best method for that is for you to take your daughter home immediately. I'm sorry. This isn't the place for her. We can't do what we did for your daughter Olivia, I'm afraid," she added nodding at me again.
"Where is Belinda now?" Daddy asked. His face was so red, I thought the top of his head might explode at any moment. I wanted to feel sorry for him, but I kept hearing a voice inside me repeat: As ye sow, so shall ye reap.
"She's been confined to quarters and told to pack her things. We would appreciate your taking her home with the least amount of commotion possible, Mr. Gordon. I'm afraid, as you know, there is no refund when a girl is expelled, and under the circumstances, a review board hearing would only exacerbate the situation for you, and for us. I hope you agree about that," she said, her eyebrows hoisted, poised.
"Yes, yes," Daddy said. "Olivia, could you fetch her?" he asked me. "I'll bring the car around to the dormitory."
"Yes, Daddy," I said. Mrs. Elliot smiled at me.
"How are things with you, Olivia? I thought you might attend Boston University," she said. "Are you enrolled there or some similar school?"
"I didn't go on to college, Mrs. Elliot. I decided to help Daddy with his business," I said.
She turned to Daddy. "I'm sure Olivia is a great asset to you, Mr. Gordon."
"Yes, she is," he said in a voice so broken and tired, I didn't recognize it.
"How unfortunate for us all, Mr. Gordon. You have your burden to bear, your own hard road to travel," she said. Daddy nodded and looked to me.
I rose and left the office. The secretary glanced up at me and tried to smile as I hurried past her and out the door of the administrative building. I crossed the campus as quickly as I could. The classrooms were all dark, except for the music suite where the school orchestra was holding a rehearsal. The music was carried by the breeze. It seemed to fit the occasion because it was a march.
About a dozen or so girls were reading, talking and watching television in the lounge at the dormitory. They all looked up when I entered. None knew who I was because I hadn't come here with Belinda, but Mrs. Landford knew me and came hurrying down the corridor the moment she had set eyes on me.
"Hello, Olivia," she said with a small, quick smile. "How are you?"
"Not as well as I could be," I replied. She nodded and then shook her head.
"I'm sorry for your family," she said.
"So am I. Where is she?"
"Right this way." She turned and I followed her down the corridor to the next to last room on the left. "She's all ready," she said and nodded at the side entrance. "You might just want to go out that way."
"Like thieves in the night," I remarked. She took on a pained expression in her dark brown eyes and then knocked on Belinda's door.
"Who is it?"
"It's Mrs. Landford. Your sister is here for you, Belinda," she explained. It took a moment before Belinda opened the door. Just like her to make me wait, I thought. She was in her high-school jacket, the one with all the varsity letters Arnold had given her, and a pair of slacks. Her hair was brushed back and tied and her suitcases were packed and beside the bed.
"Hi, Olivia," she sang as if nothing in the world had happened. "Where's Daddy?"
"In the car, waiting," I said angrily.
"You two take those suitcases and I'll get the two small bags," Mrs. Landford volunteered.
Belinda deliberately took her time, sauntering across the room. I saw the tiny smile on her lips, the look of satisfaction. She was getting what she had wanted all along. I had no doubt she deliberately got caught. I even suspected that she might have engineered the entire disgusting event just for this purpose. I seized the suitcase.
Olivia Page 7
