“Ha ha, yesss.” The dean chortled. “Oh, you’re serious? My dear girl. It’s a figure of speech, of course. This is a high school, not Law and Order. And as dean, I’m afraid my word is final. I am judge and jury. So, what is the expression? The bulk stops here.”
“Buck.”
“I’m sorry?”
“It’s the buck stops . . . oh, never mind.” How could she get through to this dough-faced dimwit? She had to change tactics. “This is a grave injustice. Grave. There’s no limit to what Elizabeth Gibbons-Brown might have done—for the school. She would have made Chandler proud! But I don’t see how she can recover from this.” The dean’s comfy little grin did not change. Heidi would enjoy wringing his fat neck. “You’re sending her out to pasture—at seventeen years old! It’s not fair!”
“It absolutely is not fair, Ms. Whelan, but not because of the expulsion. The accusations against Elizabeth are quite serious, and as an esteemed institution, we cannot let our reputation be sullied by oversexed lesbian predators.”
“What you’re saying is completely insane. Oversexed? Biz Gibbons-Brown? Now that’s funny. Ha. Ha. Ha.”
The dean held up his index finger. “I wasn’t finished. What is unfair about the situation, Ms. Whelan, is that grave as it may seem to you—that is the word you used, isn’t it? Grave. Yes, well, dire though it may seem to you, Heidi Whelan, scholarship student, whose father’s greatest achievement was his acceptance into the Sanitation Workers Union of Yonkers—”
“Excuse me?”
“What is unfair about this, my child, is how little it will matter. Elizabeth’s family is one of the oldest and most established on the eastern seaboard. There are horses on their estate worth more than your father will make in his lifetime. That’s just a fact. They have friends, relatives, long-standing relationships with people in positions powerful enough to overlook a few schoolgirl shenanigans. It will be a blip, less than that, a speck on her illustrious life story. But others are not so lucky. Others do not have it as easy as Elizabeth, do they? That’s why there are scholarships, internships, et cetera, et cetera.”
“What are you saying? Are you threatening me?”
“I’m not telling you anything you don’t know, my dear. Your very presence at this school speaks to your precocious understanding of how the world works.” He looked at Heidi over the top of his horn rims.
Heidi watched the dean move things around his desk. Did he know? Of course, Roland had spoken to him about her admission to the school, about the creation of the “City Scholars Fund”—into which he deposited exactly enough to cover three years’ tuition—but had he also mentioned that she had blackmailed him into doing it?
“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she said in her toughest voice.
“Of course you don’t.” The dean stood up and looked out at the pond through the window. “The hawks should be coming back soon. I keep checking. I love the return of the birds, don’t you?” He lifted a pair of small binoculars to his eyes. “I find it invigorating. Virgil, that’s my spaniel, is not as fond of the hawks as I am. Last summer . . .” He turned to Heidi as if he was about to launch into a story, about his dog, of all things, but seeing her countenance, he changed his mind. “Anyway, if there’s nothing else . . .” He returned his stupid face to the window.
To live honestly. To live with integrity. She could do it. Starting right now. She could do it for Biz. She joined the dean by the window.
“May I?” She held out a hand for the binoculars.
“Certainly. You a birder?”
Heidi looked at the sad, man-made pond. No doubt about it, it was still winter. “You know, Dean Crotchett, uh, Timothy.” She passed him the binoculars and sat on the edge of his desk, crossing her legs in her tiny running shorts. “I have my own life story. It certainly isn’t as illustrious as Biz’s, but it has a certain, um, tawdriness, I think, that many people would find fascinating. No diamonds or wings of fine art museums, no yachts or dog show ribbons or fancy bloodline. Just power and money. You know, the usual stuff. Institutions in the back pocket of millionaire playboys, secrets hidden under the library rug. Administrators at the beck and call of moneyed school chums. It’s a good story. One I am itching to tell.”
“Are you?” The dean frowned. She had him! “Ms. Whelan, there’s something you should know.”
“Yes?”
“The desk upon which you have parked your bottom belonged to Franklin Pierce, the fourteenth president of the United States—and a Chandler alum. Please give it the respect it deserves and do not add your backside to the list of things it has survived. If you would like to sit, I encourage you to use a chair.”
“I’ll take it under consideration.” Heidi switched her legs.
“I thank you. Now, vis-à-vis your little performance, your play at threatening me—is that what it was? You did seem to be enjoying yourself, but I’m afraid playtime is over. We will now return to real life, the one in which you leave my office right now, grateful for the opportunity to finish out the rest of your time here at Chandler and then move on to what is sure to be an interesting, if unrefined, life.”
“You think I won’t do it? I will. I’ll finish you, Crotchett.”
“For what? For whom? For Elizabeth Gibbons-Brown? She doesn’t need you, my dear. And expulsion, though inconsequential for her, would indeed be your undoing. Are you really going to fall on your sword for her? After everything you’ve done for yourself, all the hard work, the personal risk? Why, you are almost home free! These people, they are immune to you. You can’t touch them. I can’t touch them. They are invincible.”
Heidi felt herself growing smaller and smaller as he spoke. “Expulsion? On what grounds? I haven’t done anything wrong.”
“It’s a cruel world out there for people without resources. You’re better off playing by the rules. Trust me. Alienate no one and you will be fine.” The dean resumed his survey of the pond through the binoculars. “Now, please leave. I hope to see you one more time, at your graduation, and then it is my hope and expectation that I will never again have to suffer through your company. Good day, Ms. Whelan.”
Where to go? What to do? She couldn’t go home. To face Gloria and her resentment, her painfully slow packing, to tell her that she was right, nothing could be done. Roland and Doreen would win this one. Heidi was worthless. And Biz, who worked so hard, broke no rules, Biz who wanted only to make something for her own self without having to rely on her family name, would have to do just that. But at least Biz had a name to rely upon.
It would be hard, Heidi conceded, but it would not be a tragedy. Returning to Yonkers, however, was a fate she could not endure. Yonkers would be a kind of death, and she would never risk it. Not for Biz, not for anyone.
They had her, those bastards. She hated them for it—and hated herself even more for being so easily had.
The only choice was to accept it, move on, graduate. Northwestern had offered her a full-ride—based on her merit and nothing else. And with only a few weeks left in the semester, she could keep her head down and get through it, and then she would be out from under Roland Gibbons and Chandler Academy and Dean Crotchett and all the rest of them. Then she could start a real, honest life. She would have a new story then: I am self-made, she would say. I am the product of loving parents and talent and brains and wit. She would never lie about who she was again. That, if nothing else, would be her consolation.
It was still Parents’ Weekend. Kids and their folks wandered around with maps and program guides. She missed her own family. She imagined her mother here, in a terrible dress but beaming, careful about her pardon-mes and thank-you-kindlies, her father striking up conversation with everyone he passed. “As long as she stays a Yankees fan, I don’t care who educates her.” She should have invited them to one of the weekends at least. But now it was too late. They’d given her everything and
she couldn’t even give them that.
Well, there was graduation. They could all come! Her mother, her father, plus Katie and Donald, Aunt Rosemary, if her gout wasn’t acting up. Then it would really be spring and Heidi could show her parents—this is where I’ve been, this is what I’ve been doing. Be proud of me. She could show everyone who she was and not give a damn what they thought about it. The air smelled clean and fresh. She made unhurried progress across the quad.
Chandler had always seemed to Heidi like a series of locked doors that required complex social maneuvering in order to gain entry. Expertly, using her body and her brains, Heidi had unlocked one after another after another. But they didn’t lead anywhere, she saw that finally, only to more locked doors. Doors like the one that she stood before now, the front door to West Hall. But she had a key to that door. She let herself in.
She was Heidi effing Whelan. She didn’t give up as easy as all that.
“Heidi?” Doreen flung open the door and hugged her friend. “Oh, thank god. I’m having the hardest time getting dressed. Come in. Are you coming from a run? I hope you’re feeling better. I heard you weren’t well.” She sat down in front of her mirror.
“Who told you? Peter?”
“As a matter of fact.” Doreen managed to pull her eyes off her own reflection for a nanosecond and find Heidi in the mirror, obviously trying to gauge her emotional state. She wore a purple strapless dress and a white cashmere sweater, neither of which Heidi had ever seen before. Gifts from her father, she supposed, or from Peter Standish. Returning her attention to herself, Doreen began to twist and pin up her hair.
“Look, I’m sorry he said anything to you about it, honestly. He just told me and I yelled at him. I think I may call the whole thing off. It was really just a dalliance.”
“A dalliance? But I told you that I had feelings for him.”
“So I did you a favor. Any man who can be so easily led astray is obviously not deserving of your, uh, feelings.”
Heidi couldn’t think of what to say. Had she indoctrinated this heartlessness in Doreen? The girl put in the last bobby pin and, pleased with the results, turned to her friend.
“You’re upset. Of course you are. I don’t mean to trivialize it, really. I’m sorry it didn’t work out between you and Peter, but you seemed to have gotten something out of it while it lasted. Now you must tell me, what do you think of this?” She swished the skirt of the dress around her legs.
“Purple again? It’s getting a bit overplayed, don’t you think?”
“It’s my signature! You don’t like it?” Doreen ran back to the mirror.
“I don’t know. It’s fine. Kind of babyish.”
“Babyish? I thought it was classy and feminine.”
“Classy is not a word that classy people use, Doreen. My mother uses that word. She thinks that shrimp cocktail in a martini glass is the height of sophistication.”
“Oh. You’re mad at me. I get it. Okay.” Doreen sprayed her updo with hairspray. “Can we get to the other side of this? It’s, I don’t know, a bit of a drag.”
“Am I boring you? So sorry.”
“Yes, you are. And anyway, I can’t really get into it now. My father’s on his way and we have a luncheon with the dean.”
“Ah, yes. Old Crotchett. School buddies, aren’t they? Your father and the dean.”
“From Chandler and from Harvard.”
“Uh-hunh. And will the Gibbons-Browns be joining you for luncheon? Will you be toasting Biz’s successful opening last night? No?” In silence, her lips pursed, Doreen tweezed errant strands of eyebrow hair. “Why not? Your cousin must be delighted with the way everything went last night. I wouldn’t know, I haven’t seen her. Though I did see Gloria.”
“Did you? How interesting.”
“She came by the suite this morning. To pack up Elizabeth’s things.”
Heidi watched as Doreen trapped and pulled one tiny hair after another. “I really don’t want to talk about this now, Heidi. Maybe you should leave.”
“For somebody who was just attacked by a crazed lesbian stalker, you are in remarkably good spirits.”
“Thank you. I’m trying my best to put it all behind me.”
“Cut the crap, Doreen.” Heidi seized the tweezers from Doreen’s hand and threw them on the floor. With mild irritation, Doreen picked up the tweezers and replaced them in the glass on her bookshelf. Never in her life had Heidi felt more inclined toward violence—and Doreen’s stony face fueled her rage. “What did she have on you, huh? What could she have done to you that caused you to throw a flashlight at her head? You’re lucky you didn’t kill her. You should be in jail. Assault. Assault and false testimony.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about, Heidi. I did what I had to do to protect myself. You must admit that the intensity of Elizabeth’s attachment to me was unnatural.” Doreen stood before a collection of perfume bottles, opening and sniffing the tops before finally choosing one. “My cousin—my girl cousin—followed me around. She was in love with me. That much is clear now. And she’s obviously very troubled. My only wish is that she gets the help she needs.” She sprayed the air and walked through the spray, a trick Heidi taught her to avoid overscenting.
“Save it for the adoring masses, Do-do. It’s Heidi here. I taught you everything you know.”
“Did you? How kind of you. Though I must have picked some things up from elsewhere. For example, how to keep a man.” Doreen snickered to herself. She picked up a sponge and began applying foundation to her face. She was her father’s daughter, no question about it. Heidi could have ripped every hair from her scalp. But what good would that do? She would have to get her where she lived.
“You know what? You’re right. It’s boring to get all in a fizz over this kind of stuff. Here we are, fighting like a couple of middle school girls. I guess I was just upset to hear about Biz. I shouldn’t be surprised—she was totally obsessed with you. But still, you should have told me.”
“Really?” Doreen raised an eyebrow at Heidi. “Yes, I suppose I should have. I guess the whole thing with Peter stopped me.”
“Oh, forget all that. Now let me help you. You always overdo it.” Heidi snatched the sponge from Doreen and resumed the work, passing it over the bridge of her nose, her chin, her forehead. It was a perfect face, the face of an angel.
“Thank you, Heidi. Yes. That’s more like it. I know, I have a heavy hand. What will I do when you go away next year?”
“I’m sure you’ll manage. What are we doing this summer? Should we go to the Hamptons? Did I ever tell you about the summer I spent working as a desk girl at the Montauk Inn? Now this is a great story.”
As she did Doreen’s makeup, she told the story of a man in a perfect white linen suit who she checked into the Captain’s Seaside Bungalow at the Montauk Inn. A lonely man, away from his family, he took an interest in Heidi. He would talk to her—at the desk, at first, and then for longer stretches, at a table away from view, where he taught her how to infiltrate his very closed world. He gave away all the secrets of fitting in among the rich and powerful. She learned how to talk, how to walk, how to dress. He gave her books to read and films to see. He showed her everything.
Then one late afternoon he called down to the desk where Heidi was working. He wanted her to come up to his room, he said. Once there, she found a dress had been laid out for her. And a stylist was coming for hair and makeup. He wanted her to accompany him to a charity event.
“But before I could get dressed,” said Heidi, “he said there was something he had to do first. And that’s when he ravaged me. He tore me out of my work clothes and threw me onto the bed. Oh, but I loved it. He knew what he was doing, that’s for sure. We pawed at each other, like we could never get enough. I screamed so loud, I was sure someone would call the police.”
It was the truth, all but the sex part
, which never happened. The truth plus sex, loads of it, in every conceivable position. Heidi told a Penthouse version of her own story. “I was so green then, Doreen. You wouldn’t have recognized me!” Doreen submitted her face to Heidi’s attention, and listened to her make up every dirty detail. She wanted Doreen to have a full-color image. She wanted to leave nothing out. Sex by the sea. At the party. In the supply closet. Under the concierge desk. Then the wife arrived and had her fired. Heidi took the train back to Yonkers, but she wasn’t going to stop there.
So she tracked him to his Fifth Avenue apartment, gained entry. She threatened to expose him to his wife, the world. After one more mind-blowing tryst on the floor facing the view of the park, she got him to agree to pay for her education.
“‘Who do you think you are?’ he said to me. I had my clothes on by then.” Heidi traced Doreen’s mouth with a pencil and smudged it with her finger.
“‘I’m just a beautiful girl with nothing to lose.’ There,” Heidi ran light pink lip gloss over her lips and turned Doreen toward the mirror. Doreen looked at herself from side to side.
“Perfect, thanks! So that’s how you got to Chandler. You know I always wondered.” Doreen screwed earrings into her ears—Grandmère Kiki’s diamonds, Heidi saw. She must have swiped them off poor Biz. “Good for you. I better be—”
“Wait! Don’t you want to know who he was? My lover, my benefactor, instructor in the ways of the flesh. Aren’t you even curious about who this glamorous cad could be?”
“What?”
“Hold on.” Heidi plucked Biz’s pearl necklace from a hook on the wall and slowly strung it around Doreen’s neck. She straightened the diamonds in each ear. They looked at each other in the mirror. The door buzzer sounded. Doreen jumped.
“Ah! Speak of the devil. Maybe he can tell you himself.” Heidi handed Doreen her white clutch purse.
“What? What are you—”
“What did he drive here? Was it the turquoise Porsche? I did love that car. It was a bit small, difficult to satisfy your father’s penchant for copulation au naturel.”
Doreen Page 24
