“Stable condition, see?” said Heidi. “That means he’s going to be okay. The Peabody Street Bridge is pretty small. I’m sure it was just a cry for help. Doreen? Dorie? Are you all right?”
But Doreen didn’t answer. She groped her way to the bed and sat down. “So I killed him. I killed Simon Vale.”
“No, Dorie, I told you, he’s in stable condition. He’s going to survive. It even says so in the headline.”
“But he wanted to die, Heidi, didn’t he? And it’s all because of me, because I told him I didn’t love him. I was so cruel to him. Didn’t you walk him out of the dance? You did, didn’t you?”
“Yes.” Heidi thought of the hopelessness on Simon’s bleeding face as he walked away in his rented tux.
“How did he seem then?”
Heidi was surprised to see that her friend’s eyes were dry of tears. She seemed shocked, of course, but also somewhat delighted. Heidi was sure of it. “Oh, he was pretty low. I don’t think the evening had gone as he’d planned.”
“No. No, of course it didn’t. He wanted me back. He loved me so much, and there I was with Gordon Lichter. To think! Heidi, if I saw this in a movie I’m sure I would cry my eyes out! But somehow, since it is happening to me, I feel more astonished than anything else. It’s so strange. Simon Vale tried to end his life because he couldn’t have me. But I’m still here and you’re still here. People are eating. My biology test is still on Tuesday. Everything goes on just the same.” A faraway look came into Doreen’s eyes as she gazed out the window onto the darkened quad. “There’s something sort of beautiful about it, the way time goes on, indifferently.”
“Yes. And I think you should, too. That’s part of the reason why I came by. I think we should go to the dining hall and make an appearance. Nobody knew Simon’s name, but since the paper mentions his attempt to infiltrate the dance, people are definitely going to make the connection. This kind of scandal—we’re in some unchartered territory here, Doreen, and I honestly have no idea how it will go for you. But staying holed up in your room makes it seem like you feel guilty.”
“But I don’t. Maybe I should, but I don’t feel guilty. Do you think that sounds heartless?”
“The guy was disturbed. He wanted you to be much more than any girl could be to any boy. He wanted you to save him. What did I tell you about influence? Simon couldn’t live without you to follow, or anyway, he thought he couldn’t. Clearly that’s about an emptiness inside him—it has nothing to do with you. Can you help it if you’re beautiful? And kind?” She added with slightly less conviction.
“But I was so mean to him after the football game. I never told you about it, Heidi. All of a sudden he seemed disgusting to me. Has that ever happened to you? One minute I was walking around on a love cloud and the next I find Simon Vale to be physically repulsive.”
“It was a pretty pathetic football game.”
“But I think what you said was right. He said he’d done it for me, played like that, embarrassed himself, because football no longer mattered. It was too much! It was weak! I didn’t want a child; I wanted a man. You don’t think I’m some sort of monster, do you? I couldn’t take it if you did.”
Heidi sat down next to her and Doreen rested her head against her shoulder. “No, Doreen. No, of course I don’t think you’re a monster. It’s hard not to feel bad for Simon, but he made his own choices.”
“And to think that I was going to make up with him! I can’t decide if that would have been better or worse.”
Their intimacy was like a warm blanket, securing them to one another, and despite the circumstances, Heidi allowed herself to feel comforted. She wanted Doreen to survive this scandal for a host of reasons—her own reputation could suffer by association, and then there was the Roland problem, the sense of failure if Doreen were to become an outcast so early. But overriding all of that was basic concern for her friend’s well-being. She’d been given an unexpected gift of true friendship, and she would do what she could to save her.
“Listen, Dorie, why don’t you get dressed and we’ll go down to the cafeteria, okay? You’ll have a nibble of sandwich or something, show your face. How does that sound?”
“If you think it’s best, Heidi, I’m happy to.” Doreen gazed at her desk. “Just, one thing. If you don’t mind.”
“What do you need, Doreen? Anything.”
“I wouldn’t mind a minute alone. Just to collect myself. Would that be all right?”
Heidi smiled. “I understand, of course. I’ll just wait for you outside. I should call Peter anyway.”
“I don’t know what I’d do without you, Heidi. I’ve never had a friend like you—never in my life.”
Heidi stopped at the doorway and winked at Doreen. “This is just the beginning, kid.” And swinging Biz’s maroon Ferragamo over her shoulder, she let herself out.
As soon as she heard the door click closed, Doreen scrambled over to her desk. She couldn’t wait anymore, she had to look. The truth was, she’d been obsessing about the picture all day. The creepy change she saw before was in her head, that’s what she told herself over and over again, but still, she had an odd notion that the picture was tracking her every move. And after the way she’d treated Simon at the dance, she couldn’t help wondering if the picture had gotten even worse. It was crazy, crazy! But she’d been too afraid to find out. Instead she had vowed to make up with Simon, study, improve herself.
And with Heidi’s news that Simon had thrown himself off the bridge because of her, she couldn’t avoid it any longer. She had to see for certain if she’d made up the change in the image and if the recent events had any additional effect. Better to know what she was up against, what the picture had in store. With shaking hands, she opened the top drawer of her desk and slid out the photograph.
This time, there could be no doubt. It was real! It happened! The change in the image she’d seen before was no product of her imagination; it was right there in front of her, only worse, more horrifying. The eyes blazed cruelly, the mouth had become redder, as if from blood. There were grotesque boils popping up in the skin. She gave out a cry.
“Doreen? Are you okay?” Heidi asked from the hallway.
“Uh, what? Oh, yeah, I just . . . I stepped on an earring.”
“Oh, okay. Almost ready? The dining hall closes in an hour.”
“Just give me one more minute!” Doreen paced around her room. What should she do? How could she fix this? She thought of ways to make herself better, to counteract the damage that had already been done, but she didn’t know how to begin—or if it would even work. She’d have to be a nun, or even better than a nun! She’d have to be Biz! No more boys or distractions. No more manipulating or materialism. No more life.
“No more life,” she whispered. A shiver went down her spine. What a sacrifice. She caught her reflection in the full-length mirror. That girl, the one with the skin of a doll and the face of a model, her hair flowing and soft, would she have to ignore all the perks of beauty in order to be good? It seemed such a shame.
She rubbed some lip gloss on her lips, tied back her lustrous hair. She watched herself do it—so gracefully. How could anyone who looked so perfect be bad? And then it dawned on her. Of course! Why didn’t she think of it earlier? She didn’t have to change a thing. Doreen Gray could act exactly as she liked. She grinned.
So the picture was getting worse. What of it? Doreen herself had never looked prettier. Look! Look at that girl in the mirror. The only thing that mattered was how she appeared, and her appearance was perfect. She slid the photograph back into the drawer. She’d keep it around for kicks, but she was free to live her life as she wanted, liberated from guilt! Free to stuff herself on the banquet of life! Almost skipping, she ran out to meet her friend.
A wind cut through the quad. Winter was coming, and it wasn’t going to be nice about it.
“Brr!” Dore
en took Heidi’s arm. “Doesn’t the cafeteria look warm and inviting? I hope there’s soup tonight.”
“Doreen, listen, you don’t have to worry. Just be yourself in there, okay? I’m sure everything will just take care of itself. You are on the side of the angels now.”
But Doreen wasn’t listening.
“Marvelous, marvelous. To be young! Heidi, to live without doubts. Everybody should be so lucky!”
She was a fascinating person, that Doreen Gray.
Blue blazers and cashmere sweater sets clustered together between classes. The day was gray and overcast, but Biz had no problem spotting Doreen. In her red coat, huge sunglasses and a dramatic black scarf, she looked like a movie star on the lam.
“Doreen! Doreen!” Biz called out the window of the astronomy lab, but her cousin continued her diagonal path across campus.
Biz fled down the stairs of the science building and raced across the lawn to catch up with her. Since hearing about the Simon Vale tragedy, Biz had left countless messages on Doreen’s voice mail, plus e-mails and text messages. She even waited outside Doreen’s art history class that morning, but Doreen never appeared. It broke Biz’s heart to think of her cousin so despairing. Biz called her name again from a few feet away, but it wasn’t until Biz could reach out and lay a hand on her shoulder that Doreen noticed her.
“Jesus, Elizabeth. Do you have to paw me?”
“I tried . . . I saw you . . . I ran . . .” Biz panted, clinging to the wool of Doreen’s coat and trying to catch her breath. “Are you . . . How? Is everything? I’m . . . I’m so, so sorry.” She threw her arms around Doreen. “I can’t imagine what you must be going through.”
Doreen squirmed out of her cousin’s embrace. “I don’t know what you’re talking about, but please let go of me. I’m not feeling well.” Doreen resumed her quick pace, and Biz hustled along beside her.
“Of course, the whole thing is too grim. The poor guy! Have you spoken to his mother? Do you know how he’s doing? When I didn’t see you at art history today I thought maybe you’d gone to visit.”
“To visit? Who would I go to visit at nine o’clock in the morning?”
Biz could see herself blinking dumbly in the black glass of Doreen’s Miu Mius. “Who? Well, Simon Vale! You heard, of course, of his, um, tumble off the Peabody Street Bridge after the dance?”
“Oh, that. Are we still talking about that? That was ages ago.”
“Ages ago? Doreen, it happened yesterday! I’m sure Simon is still in the hospital. Do you know how he’s doing? Will they let him out or will he have to be institutionalized? Do you think he really meant to kill himself or was it just a cry for help thing? Me, I thought maybe he was trying to get your attention, not that it’s your fault or anything. Any more than Reagan’s attempted assassination could be blamed on Jodie Foster.”
“Biz! Please!” They’d stopped in front of Doreen’s dorm. Doreen flipped back her sunglasses to rest on top of her head, exposing red, blurry eyes. She squeezed the bridge of her nose. “I have a terrible headache. I had a dawn visit from Gordon this morning, complete with champagne.”
Leaving the dorm room after ten at night was strictly forbidden and could result in expulsion from Chandler. But at five o’clock in the morning, curfew was lifted. And since there was no faculty around at that hour and campus safety was no longer trolling for fugitives, many would-be paramours used that time to sneak into their lovers’ beds. Breaking visitation was a far lesser crime than breaking curfew, though Biz always thought that setting an alarm to squeeze in a little sex before classes began was a disgusting way to go about courtship.
“Gordon? Champagne? But you couldn’t have! Not while you knew that poor Simon Vale was in the hospital!”
“Lay off the righteous indignation, Elizabeth. Okay? You said yourself that what happened to Simon Vale had nothing to do with me.”
“Wait. No, I said it wasn’t your fault. Obviously, I mean it must have had something to do with you, Doreen. He did love you, right? It seemed that he loved you very much.”
“That’s his problem, isn’t it?” Doreen sighed. “I’m sorry, Biz, I’m going on zero sleep here. I need to go up and lie down.”
“So that’s what you were doing during art history? Sleeping one off? While Simon Vale fought for his life in the hospital?”
Doreen sighed again. “Good-bye, Biz,” she said, and marched into her dorm.
“Wait, Doreen!” Biz ran after her, following her into West Hall. “I’m sorry. Look, there’s something else I wanted to talk to you about.”
Biz had good news to share. The week since her realization in the photo lab had been the most productive of her life. Something clicked for the young artist. The art that seemed so out of reach only a few days ago seemed to bend to her every whim now. The work was good; it was better than good. In her best moments, looking at what she’d made, Biz allowed herself to believe that she was approaching the creation of something beautiful.
And she wasn’t the only one who noticed. When Mr. Cameron saw what she was working on, he was speechless. On the spot he offered Biz her first solo photography exhibit. It would be in Douglas Hall during Parents’ Weekend. There would be a group show in the gallery, but he wanted to give Biz her own space. He said that her work was on such a different level from her classmates that they would suffer by comparison.
“I know it’s just a high school show, but at this school you never know who is coming for Parents’ Weekend. This could actually turn into something big for me, something—of my own.” Biz followed Doreen up the stairs. “You should have heard what he said about my portfolio, Dorie. He was very complimentary. He was excited. He said, I mean, I don’t want to brag, but he called the work brilliant. But I really feel my portfolio isn’t complete. I know your relationship with that picture is complicated, but now that some time has passed, you must be able to see how strong it is, compositionally speaking. And since I destroyed all the files on my computer just as I told you I would, I thought maybe you still had a hard copy.”
Once in her room, Doreen collapsed onto the bed.
“You do still have it, don’t you?” asked Biz, looking around.
“Have what? What are you on about?”
“Wow, Dorie, you really are in a fog today. The picture that I printed of you in the red dress. I want to include it in the show. Is it in your desk?” Biz innocently slid open the top drawer of Doreen’s desk.
“No!” Doreen lunged and slammed the drawer closed. Biz withdrew her hand just in time to avoid losing all her fingers.
“Jeez. What’s gotten into you, Doreen?”
“I don’t have the picture, okay? I tore it up. I destroyed it. Nuked it. Burned it. The point is it’s gone, so I’m afraid I can’t help you.”
“But you said that you wouldn’t do that. Remember? You said you wanted to keep it as a reminder.”
“That was a long time ago, Biz. I don’t know why I would keep a stupid picture you gave me months ago. Sorry I can’t help you, but I really have to lie down. I am not feeling well at all.”
“You do seem a bit, uh, piqued.” Biz studied her cousin.
Doreen attempted a smile but it came out like a wince. “I am, really. Maybe I’m coming down with something. The flu maybe. Jessica Feinberg down the hall is practically tubercular. I think she has pneumonia, so I should probably, you know, rest. Lovely to see you. Kiss, kiss.”
“Yes. Maybe rest is the thing. You’ve been through a lot these past days. It’s probably affecting you more than you know. I’ll go to the dean and tell him you’re not up for your afternoon classes. It’s a bit of a relief, actually. To be honest you seemed a bit coldhearted before.”
“No, no. That was only a cover. Self-protection and everything, you know, trying to take it all in. The truth is you’re right, Bizzy. I’m really very despondent over the whole thing.�
� Fully clothed, Doreen climbed into the bed. “Yes, poor Simon. Poor, poor Simon Vale.”
As soon as Doreen spotted Biz on the quad, she launched herself from the bed and paced around her room. Obviously, she couldn’t leave the picture in her drawer. There were too many snoops around, constantly dropping by, nosing around in places they did not belong. She’d barely managed to avoid complete disaster with Biz. And what if Gordon was digging around for a condom? Or Heidi needed a pen? No, no. The desk was totally unsuitable.
She opened her closet. Maybe some shoebox? Or tucked into an ice skate or something? But still that did not seem far enough away. She would be constantly tempted to pull the picture out and check on her soul’s progress—which would be bad for her well-being and completely catastrophic should someone catch her in the act. Suddenly her room felt unbearably small and vulnerable, as if every corner and every drawer had the power to expose her secret.
Okay, she thought, time for action. Doreen pulled out her American literature folder and dumped all the papers onto the bed. Without looking at the image, she slipped the picture from her desk drawer into the folder. Then she found a big manila envelope filled with family photos. She added the photos to the pile of papers on the bed and dropped the folder into the envelope, securing the string enclosure and taping the flap closed with packing tape. The package seemed innocuous enough, but she could still feel the beating heart of the picture inside. The black plastic bag in which Gordon had toted the bottles of champagne that morning was still in her wastepaper basket. She retrieved the bag and dropped the envelope inside, using the rest of her packing tape to secure the plastic around it. She felt the size and shape of the parcel in her hand. It looked like nothing, like trash. The act of disguising the evidence of her shameful secret made her feel powerful and in control.
Doreen Page 14
