by Simmons, NC
“Rory…?”
Rory scanned the foyer, enjoying the way the fading afternoon light bounced through the crystals of the chandelier, painting every surface with brilliant hues of purple, red, and gold. He turned toward Sonia and smiled. Her naked, drenched body was awash in a rainbow of bent light.
“Yes, Miss Nichols…”
“You don’t need to worry about a bonus plan. Just give me one of these every couple of months and I’ll be juuuuust fine.”
He laughed.
“By the way, sir…”
“Yes, Miss Nichols?”
“Don’t you think your future wife might have a little problem with you boffing your personal assistant all the time? I mean… Don’t you think she could get a little jealous?”
“Miss Nichols, I suspect that after I get married I won’t be the only one in this house ‘boffing’ their personal assistant.”
“Good! That’s a relief. Another one of those ‘stipulations,’ sir?”
“Oh yes, Sonia. Definitely one of those ‘stipulations’.”
Part 5
No More Promises
Fifteen
“Damn, Freaky, I thought Paulson was tough! This place is insane! How the hell do these sadists expect us to finish 100 pages in one night? In three subjects, for God’s sake! 300 pages! I may not survive three years of this shit! When are we ever going to get some sleep?”
Lena shoveled an overloaded fork full of Greek salad into her ravenous gob. A huge clump of feta cheese crumbled on its way in, loose bits dropping back to the plate and down between her legs. Lena dodged backward as the cheese fell, sparing her typical white T-shirt and painted-on jeans ignoble fallout.
In a navy blue Lycra dress and cropped, gold jacket, Lenore rolled her eyes and shook her head in mild disgust, delicately dabbing a smidgen of dressing from the corner of her mouth.
“Stop complaining, dear. You well know that we have it better than most. Many of our classmates must work their way through school. All we must do is write a few checks, attend class, and turn in papers. We do not work because we must, dear. We work because we enjoy it.”
For emphasis, Lenore flipped her fork back and forth between the pair, politely putting the Wild Child’s whining in proper perspective.
“Look at us, Lena. I remain fit and I walk runways. You remain fit and swing your racket. I do a few shoots each year to keep Shalamar’s endorsement. You play your silly little game and your signature lines are selling better than ever. And do not forget...! You are still worth more than twice what I am worth! So let us face facts, dear… Whining does not become you.”
Lenore stabbed a few leafs of Jake’s Irish Pizza’s drool-worthy house salad and placed them into her mouth.
“I know, I know,” Lena relented mid-munch. “But still… This is insane! Whose idea was Harvard law, anyway?”
Head down, chewing quietly, Lenore pointed her fork at Lena.
Lena masticated a large grape leaf. “Yeah, yeah. I know. I wanted Harvard law. But you wanted Harvard law, too, Freaky Baby. Seems to me one of us pushed the other one along. Now who would that be, pray tell?”
Consuming another elegantly sized portion of salad, head still down, Lenore lifted her fork and pointed at herself, same as she always did whenever Lena got on the, “Who’s idea was this, anyway?” subject.
“So am I just dreaming this, or was it your idea that we both wind up at Harvard and stick to law?”
Lenore took another small forkful and slipped it past her lips. She wiggled the fork at Lena.
“What the hell does that mean? What’s with the fork wiggle? Are you accepting your culpability in this matter, Ms. De La Fuente? Is that an admission of guilt?”
Lena turned to an imaginary jurist on her right and begged the court’s indulgence. “Your honor... Permission to treat the witness as hostile.’
With a deep, stentorian voice, Lena responded to herself. “Permission granted, counselor. Kill the bitch.”
Lenore giggled, dabbed her lips, and returned her napkin to her lap. Lifting her head, she engaged her pestering prosecutor.
“Yes, Ms. Sardi. I confess. You trapped me with your cunning and superior cross examination skills. It was all my idea that two total strangers would arrive at Paulson, room together all four years, miraculously pursue identical courses of study, double-major together, graduate from said college #3 and #4, apply to the same graduate school, get accepted together, move to Boston together, get an apartment together, room together, and take identical classes together on the path to graduating together, one day founding their own law firm together.
“You broke me. Guilty as charged on all counts, counselor.”
Lena pounded the table with her palm. “Your honor, I rest my case! Ms. De La Fuente has admitted her guilt! This freaky supermodel pushed our sweet, innocent, tennis pro into pursuing an insane quest to graduate in the top five from Harvard Law.”
Lenore put on a serious, deep voice. “And what, Ms. Sardi, do you recommend as a punishment befitting the crime?”
Lena shook her fork at her still-working runway roommate. “Throw the book at her! I say make the freaky supermodel do Ms. Sardi’s homework for a year!”
Lenore smiled broadly at the antagonistic future litigator. “Lena, dear, in case you had not noticed, we have the same homework. We are in the same classes. I do not think that solution will help you much. The plagiarism might stand out a bit.”
“Yeah, but at least I’ll feel better knowing you’re throwing the book at yourself.”
Lena elicited another hearty laugh from her roommate. Lenore’s eyes sparkled with infatuation gazing at her “more than life itself” love.
Lenore delicately put down her fork and covered her plate with her napkin, politely pushing it away. Lena forklifted one last shovelful of Greek salad, tossed the fork to the plate with a loud clank, and shoved it aside.
“Okay, Freaky Baby. I’ll quit whining. You’re right. There are a lot of people here who have it a lot tougher than we do. But it’s not like we’re not working hard for it. Walking down a runway may not be tough for a born hip-wiggler, but tennis… now that’s a real woman’s sport. I’m exhausted trying to keep up with everything. Studies… Tournaments… BLEH!”
Lenore wagged her finger. “No, no, no, Wild Child. We both have the same workout regimen remember? Let us not start the, ‘Who is the better athlete?’ competition again! You know how it always ends. I win with my cat-like reflexes and smooth, graceful moves,” Lenore smirked and extended her hands side-to-side, floating them above the floor.
“Swords and horseys! You call those sports? HA! Cat-like reflexes my beautiful Italian ass! Tennis! Now THAT’S cat-like! Have you ever tried to receive service from Martina or Chrissy? Good luck, runway girl! Try taking a 110 mile per hour service on clay from the crazy Czech before you talk about ‘cat-like’ reflexes, sister!”
“Okay, okay… I concede. You are absolutely right. Avoiding and deflecting the point of an oncoming saber is not nearly as difficult as a baseline shift. You are absolutely right, my dear, doddering friend.”
Lena slammed her palm down on the table. “Ohhh… Now you’ve gone and done it! You think I’m past my prime, is that what I’m hearing, Freaky?”
“Oh, no… I would never suggest you are past your prime, my ancient, withering roommate.”
Lena reached behind her head and put her palm against her upswept hair, tossing her head back and pointing her elbow to the side. “Ooooh… Look at me! I’m a middle-aged model! I can still swivel my hips on this treacherous runway. OOOH! OUCH!”
Lena threw her hand to her side and grabbed her hip. “My osteoporosis! That last swivel broke my hip! Where’s my walker?”
Lenore giggled again. She never won taunting contests with Lena. “Okay, okay! I give up! You win!”
“No, dear… I think a little humiliation is in order. Arm wrestle?”
Waving her hand back and forth, Lenore knew a lost cause w
hen she saw it. “With these arms? You said it yourself, tennis girl, my genes are tuned for horses and runways and sabers, not backhand smashes. I give up. You are too powerful for me, my Amazonian friend.”
Arms thrown in the air, Lena fist-pumped. “I WON! I WON! I’m the new world’s champeen of smack!”
The five people scattered here and there throughout Jake’s Irish Pizza looked in Lena’s direction for a split second, shook their heads, and returned to their slices and suds.
The tennis-taunter propped her face on her palms and leaned forward on the wobbly pizzeria table. “So, Freaky, how do you like Bean Town so far? Do you still think we’re going to make it through that little vision of yours? You still think we’re on track for world-dominating greatness?”
Lenore mimicked Lena and propped her face in her palms. “Well, my beautiful Wild Child, I love this city. I love our apartment, I love Harvard, I love the law, and,” she blew Lena a kiss, “I definitely love you. So yes, I would say this is all happening precisely according to plan.”
Lena glanced nervously around the room and looked back at Lenore, index finger pressed to her lips. “Shhhh! Lenore! Icks-nay on the Ove-lay!”
“Huh?”
“Watch what you say about the ‘L’ word. We’re in public, babe.”
Still oblivious, Lenore asked again. “Huh? What ‘L’ word?”
Lena bent over the table and beckoned Lenore closer. She pressed her lips to Lenore’s ear. “L O V E, Freaky. Love. Don’t say that too loud. They don’t take well to that kind of thing in this town. Did you see what some of the locals said about Billy Jean when she came out? Not kind, Freaky.”
“Ohhhhh…” Lenore leaned back. “I am sorry. I did not think I said it that loudly.”
“Look, Lenore, Boston is a WAY different town than New York. Up here, everyone knows everyone. A little rumor gets out to the wrong person and our lives could be over in a hurry. No endorsements, no signature clothing lines, no cash. Done. Kaput. Over. So watch it with the ‘L’ word.”
Lenore pouted and put her face back in her palms, locking eyes with Lena. She said nothing. For an uncomfortably silent eternity, Lenore besieged Lena’s eyes with the “Supermodel Sulk.”
“Stop it, Freaky.”
Lenore remained silent.
“Stop it, Lenore.”
Mope.
“C’mon, Lenore. Stop it.”
Frown.
“What do you want? You want me to say it? Is that what this is about? You want me to say it?”
Lenore smiled and nodded, face still planted in palms.
“Dear God! What a frigging diva!”
Lena beckoned Lenore forward with her index finger. The two women met at the center of the table and Lena whispered the words Lenore longed to hear. “I love you, too, Lenore.”
Lenore beamed, resting her chin on her interlaced fingers, smiling with her eyes at the powerhouse attorney in the making.
“Now, can we get past all this lovey-dovey stuff and talk about the rest of the week? I have a ton of work to get done before Friday. You remember I have that warm-up tournament in LA this weekend, right?”
“Yes, dear. You leave Friday after class, I leave Friday after class.”
“Oh yeah? You’re heading out, too? I guess I forgot about that. Where are you going?”
“Paris. There is a fall preview show this weekend and I am doing a two-day shoot for Raquel for her new working professional designs. I am coming back Sunday night on the red eye.”
“Well, then, I guess we’ll both need to spend some quality time at the library this week! Tichner will have our heads if we walk in Monday morning with jetlag and no prep.”
Coquettishly cocking her head and resting her chin on clasped fingers, Lenore’s competitive side got the better of her. Offering one of the Wild Child’s signature eye-batting smirks, she slipped. “Well you may need extra time at the library this week but I, my procrastinating friend, have moved ahead in my reading. I have the night off. I have a few things I must do back at the apartment.”
“SHEESH! How do you do that? How do you get ahead of me like that? This is the second time this month that you’ve ditched on me because you’re ahead of me. You were never like this at Paulson! We studied everything together and I don’t ever remember you leaving me in the dust like this.”
Snagged. Lenore bowed her head and glanced away. “Oh… I do not know. I just worked a little faster this week, that is all.”
Squinting, the future litigator didn’t believe her roommate’s excuse. “Lenooore? What’s going on, Freaky? Why do you look embarrassed all of a sudden? What’s going on? And don’t say, ‘I just worked a little faster this week.’ It’s truth-o-meter time, Freaky.”
Humiliated, Lenore thrust her hands into her lap. “Well… Wild Child… I have a confession. And please do not be upset, but... I learned how to skim pages when I was ten. I never wanted to frustrate you by getting too far ahead, so I… I have always pretended to read at your speed. I kept journals inside my textbooks so I could read something else while you were catching up.”
Lena’s head popped to attention, her eyes flaming. “Now wait a damned minute, Lenore! You mean to tell me you’ve been ahead of me all this time and you never let me know about it? All four years? All the way through Paulson you were leaving me in your dust?”
“Yes, Lena,” Lenore acknowledged, dropping her head in shame. “I am sorry! I never told you because I did not want you to feel badly about it. You were always so competitive about our studies and grades and I did not want to upset you.”
Exasperated and slightly humiliated, Lena scowled and shook her head. “Well, then! Any other secrets you feel like letting me in on, huh Lenore? Like the fact that you’re really Super Girl and every time you go into the bathroom you’re really flying out the window to stop a passenger train from derailing?”
The freaky supermodel had a hearty laugh. A look of practiced innocence met Lena’s attempt to read Lenore’s eyes. The roommate feigned genuine consideration of the Wild Child’s query.
“No, dear. No other secrets. Just the speed reading. Besides… What are you complaining about? You graduated higher than me anyway. So it does not really matter that I was ahead of you on reading assignments, does it? You still won.”
Lena peered at Lenore through slitted eyes, wary, a nagging suspicion tugging at her heart. She knew the look. Lenore never used it with Lena - or so she thought - but she’d seen it many times over the years whenever the freaky supermodel did a TV interview. Lenore put on “the mask” anytime she wished to dodge questions she did not want to answer.
“Lenore…?”
The freaky supermodel glanced away nervously, toward the window and the street beyond. Snagged again!
“Lenore…? Look at me. Did you do something else besides speed read, Freaky? Is there something else I should know about?”
Feigning confusion, Lenore attempted to deflect the Wild Child’s cross examination. “I do not think so. No. Just the speed reading, dear.”
In her peripheral vision, Lena caught Lenore’s right forearm flexing. She was picking at the cuticle on her left index finger.
“Lenore… What’s going on? What else are you hiding? It wasn’t just speed reading, was it? C’mon, Freaky Baby. Fess up.”
“Really, Lena. Nothing else. No other secrets. I promise.”
Math was never Lena’s favorite subject, but a simple equation was hard to miss. Lenore was a secret speed reader, ergo Lenore was probably way ahead of Lena on all of their assignments. Lena always felt as if Lenore was one step sharper during their study sessions. PLUS, Lenore was always calculating, always plotting, always on the hunt for adventure.
Lena mulled the absurdity of her next question. “Nah… She didn’t. She couldn’t. Did she? NAH!”
“Freaky… Did you…?”
Lenore’s eyes shifted uncomfortably.
“Lenore Consuela Maria De La Fuente… Did you… Did you let m
e win?”
A muscle in Lenore’s cheek rippled.
“Win…? Win what, dear?”
“Lenoooore…?”
“Leeeena…?”
Lena stared into Lenore’s eyes and forced her way past the guarded portals of Lenore’s soul. She climbed down and into Lenore’s heart, scouring for confirmation of her suspicion. Lenore broke her gaze, her eyes darting to her clasped hands as they rested on the pizzeria table.
“YOU DID! YOU DID! YOU THREW YOUR GPA! YOU LET ME WIN!”
“No! I did not, Lena! I did not! I would not! Why would I do that? Why would I let you beat me?” Lenore pleaded, not convincingly.
“You did, didn’t you? You threw your goddamned GPA so I would beat you! I KNEW IT! God damn it! I knew it!”
Lena pounded the table and pointed accusingly at Lenore. The furious Wild Child laid into her self-sacrificial sweetie. “I knew something was up! I couldn’t believe you got a 98 on ‘The Myth of Sisyphus!’ You got a 98 on a paper you could have written in your sleep, damn it! A goddamned throw-away paper in our last, fluffy, piece-of-cake, elective course and you lost two frigging points. YOU HELPED ME WRITE THE DAMNED PAPER THAT I GOT A 100 ON, LENORE! On Camus, of all people! That goddamned Frenchie you love so much!”
A slip of apology crept across Lenore’s face. She begged with her eyes, seeking forgiveness from the Wild Child. “Lena… I am sorry! I just thought... You worked so hard for it! Your tennis always took so much more work than my modeling and I was so proud of you! I just wanted you to have the extra rank! Is there anything wrong with wanting you to have it instead of me?”
“But Lenore… I wanted to beat you fair and square! I thought we were just having fun with the competition! I never wanted it so bad that you would throw your grades for me!”
“Lena… You have always worked harder than me for everything. I watched you sweat and work and fight for every grade and every win on the tennis court. I grew up with great privilege and you… You always had to fight for everything. You deserved it! I wanted you to have it. Please don’t be angry with me! Please! Let it be my gift! Please?”
