by Peg Cochran
Something about some new arrivals…”
Lance’s father obediently stumbled off in the direction of the main entrance.
“Sorry about that. He’s really quite harmless.”
"Oh, that's all right," Rivka said, trying to sound as if she were used to going to parties and being pawed by adult men. Lance put his hand on her waist. "It’s stuffy in here, isn’t it?" He ran a finger under the collar of his crisp, pleated-front shirt.
Rivka had never seen anyone her own age in a dinner jacket before. He looked like a model in one of those advertisements in the New York Times.
"Do you mind if we go outside for a moment? I’m going to die if I don’t get some air.” He led her toward a set of tall French doors draped in gauzy white fabric and gestured for her to go first.
"I can't—"
"Please? Just for a minute?" He caught her hand and held it. "I still don't know your name."
Rivka looked over her shoulder. She didn't see Pamela anywhere or Mary or Deirdre either.
She followed Lance out to a patio ringed with fragrant rosebushes and scattered with plump-cushioned chairs and chaise longues.
Lance took a deep breath. “Much better. It was getting really hot in there."
He took her hand again, and led her to one of the chaises. Rivka perched on the end, and Lance sat down beside her.
Rivka took a deep breath. She smelled Lance's aftershave and the starch in his shirt. She sat very still. She didn’t want to disturb the moment. She didn’t want it to ever end. She was having all these weird feelings and realized, with dismay, that she was falling in love with Pamela's brother.
“You’re very pretty, you know.” Lance turned his head to look at Rivka.
“Thank you.” She clenched her right hand beneath the folds of her dress. If only she were more experienced and knew how to act!
"You know my name, but I don't know yours. I don’t think that's fair do you?"
Rivka shook her head.
"Well? What is it?" He pretended to pout, and Rivka laughed.
"It's Riv--, I mean it's Becky." She'd almost said Rivka. Rivka closed her eyes. She felt her face getting hot. She knew she was going to blow it. She'd been out of her league all night, and Lance was no exception. He was probably being polite.
"Maybe we could hang out sometime?"
Panic made Rivka stutter. What could she say? Every single beat and fiber of her heart wanted to scream "yes."
But if she said yes, Pamela would find out. Despite what her mother thought, Rivka had no illusions about Pamela. It would be ugly, and she would lose.
"I'll take that as a yes." Lance lowered his gaze to Rivka's lips. He kissed her.
Rivka drowned in a jumble of impressions and sensations-—the softness of his lips, the heat of his hands on her bare shoulders, the roughness of his jacket fabric under her own hands. Surely, she was dreaming, and this wasn't really happening? She'd wake up in her own bed with her mother shaking her and telling her it was time for school.
He moved his lips to the corner of her mouth, then to the side of her neck by her ear and finally back to her lips.
Rivka sighed. She'd never kissed a boy before. Was she doing it right? Was it possible to do it wrong and have it feel so wonderful?
They heard someone clear their throat and drew apart, startled.
“Well, well, well. What do we have here?” a female voice drawled.
Chapter 6
Rivka pulled away from Lance and jumped to her feet. “You won’t tell Pamela will you?”
Mary shrugged. “Tell her what? It’s a free country isn’t it?”
The French doors opened, and Rivka jumped again.
Lance's mother stuck her head out.
"Lance, be a dear would you, and come talk to Mrs. Gelman? She's all on her lonesome, and she's following me around, and it's getting tiresome."
Lance glanced at Rivka, and she shrugged.
Lance disappeared through the French doors, and Rivka turned to Mary. "Seriously, you won't tell Pamela will you? She doesn't want me to have anything do with her brother."
Mary snorted. "I don't see what business it is of Pamela's, but if that's the way you want it, that's fine with me."
"You don't understand," Rivka pleaded. "You don't know what it's like." She twisted her hands in her skirt. "You don't have a weird name and foreign parents, and…and…"
Mary laughed. "No, I just have a mother who everyone knows has been locked up in the looney bin more than once." She wandered over toward the swimming pool. There were tiny white lights woven into the adjacent trees, and they flickered reflectively from the depths of the pool.
Mary slipped her sandal off and dipped her toes into the water. "You can be one of Pamela's victims, or you can fight back," she said over her shoulder.
"It's not like that," Rivka began when Pamela came bursting through the door.
“There you are. I wondered where you'd gotten to.” The straps of her designer gown had slipped off her shoulders, and her hair was coming out of its French knot. “Becky.” She pointed at Rivka, “truth or dare.”
Rivka jumped.
Without waiting for an answer, Pamela continued. “Dare.” She pointed at Rivka again. “I dare you to go steal us a bottle of champagne from the bar and bring it back here.”
Mary raised an eyebrow. “Great idea.”
“How am I going to do—“
Pamela snapped her fingers. “Do it. Now. Go.”
There was no one waiting at the bar when Rivka got there. She inched closer. The bartender was leaning over, the seams of his short black jacket straining over his broad back as he sliced open some cartons. He obviously didn’t realize Rivka was standing there. Rivka looked around and spied a silver bucket at one end of the bar. The necks of several bottles of frosted champagne stuck out of the ice at odd angles. All she had to do was grab one while the bartender wasn’t looking. She inched closer and reached out a hand toward the bucket.
“Give me a whiskey and soda would you?”
The voice came from behind Rivka, and she jumped.
“So sorry, didn’t see you there, you go first.” The man motioned to her to go forward. His black bow tie was starting to slip to one side, and his white pleated shirt had wilted in the humidity.
Rivka shook her head and eased back into the shadows next to a large, potted fern.
The bartender filled a clean glass with ice, poured a shot of golden liquid over it, and squirted in soda from a siphon. He put the sweating glass on a napkin and slid it across the bar. The man took the drink, and the bartender turned back to his boxes.
Rivka’s heart was pounding so hard she felt light-headed. She waited for a moment then sidled closer. And then closer. The bartender grunted, put a hand to his back and started to straighten up. Rivka scurried back toward the shadows of the friendly fern.
But the bartender merely rubbed a hand to the small of his back before bending to his task again. Rivka marched forward. It was now or never. She reached out a hand and grabbed one of the bottles from the bucket. Icy rivulets of water ran down her arm, and she shivered. She was turning to flee when she ran smack into a solid, masculine chest.
“I see you’ve finally gotten yourself something decent to drink,” he drawled.
It was Pamela’s father.
“Yes.” Rivka smiled brightly and tried to hide the bottle behind her back.
“Ssss excellent. Help yourself. Want my guests to have a good time.” He raised an unsteady hand toward Rivka, but she ducked and bolted back through the French doors and the safety of the darkened terrace.
“I’ve got it. I’ve got it.” Rivka held the bottle aloft.
“Good girl,” Pamela clapped her hands. “Give it to me.”
Rivka held the bottle higher, and Pamela jumped toward it, trying to grab it. The heel of one of her navy silk pumps snagged on the edge of her dress, and they heard the sound of fabric tearing.
“Shit! Look what y
ou made me do.” Pamela whirled around to examine the damage.
“I’m sorry.” Rivka’s moment of triumph was over. She held the bottle out meekly and Pamela grabbed it.
Mary sat by the pool with her dress hiked up and her legs dangling in the water. “Want me to open it?”
Pamela shook her head. She inched the cork up out of the bottle with her thumbs, her lower lip caught between her teeth in concentration. They all jumped when the cork popped loudly and went flying. It landed in the pool and sank from view.
Champagne sluiced over the sides of the bottle. Pamela held it to her mouth and licked at the overflowing liquid.
“Yummy, champers.” She held the bottle toward Mary.
Mary took the bottle of champagne and had a sip.
Rivka looked from Pamela to Mary and then back again. Weren’t they going to offer her any? She was the one who had risked everything to grab the bottle off the bar. She’d promised her parents she wouldn’t dream of having anything alcoholic to drink, but it was hot, she was thirsty, and champagne hardly counted. Everyone was having some. A few sips wouldn’t hurt. Nothing had happened the time she’d let Pamela put the vodka in her soda. Her mother hadn’t even noticed! And she wouldn’t notice this time either. Sometimes she wondered how smart her parents really were.
So when Pamela swung the bottle in Rivka’s direction, she didn’t say no. She took a long swallow, and then another.
“Hey, I want some more.” Mary hoisted herself up from beside the pool and tried to take the bottle from Rivka.
“No.” Rivka held on tight and put it back to her lips. This time she wasn’t being excluded. She would show them she was just like them.
“Come on. That’s enough.” Mary tried to grab for the bottle, but Pamela shook her head.
Mary shrugged and went back toward the pool.
Rivka felt triumphant. She put both hands around the bottle and raised it toward her mouth while Pamela watched with this strange half-smile on her lips.
“Come on. I want some, too.” Mary had her legs in the water again and was swishing them back and forth. She kicked at a leaf that had fallen into the pool and watched as it went swirling toward the other end.
Rivka thought she would join her. The water looked so cool. It was still hot and humid although the sun was slowly sinking behind the trees.
She put the bottle on a small table next to the chair where Pamela was sprawled and walked toward the pool. Walking felt strange—as if the ground were undulating beneath her feet. She had to concentrate and put one foot carefully in front of the other.
It seemed to take an eternity, and by the time she got to the edge of the pool, she was sweating. It would be bliss to dangle her legs in the cool water.
She bent her knees and started to lower herself toward the edge of the pool. The movement felt very complicated and strangely treacherous—as if she were performing some weird gymnastic maneuver she’d never attempted before. She had to concentrate really hard on what she was doing. She knew she didn’t look very graceful, but she didn’t care. All she could think about was cooling down with her feet immersed in the pale blue water.
Her long, silk dress wasn’t making it any easier, nor the backless high-heeled sandals Pamela had loaned her for the event.
The pool looked strange with the water flickering in the light from the moon. Rivka felt a wave of dizziness and lost her balance. She put out a hand, and grabbed frantically at… nothing.
And fell face first into the pool, her silk dress fanning out around her, one sandal coming loose and sinking slowly to the bottom.
Chapter 7
Rivka heard the others laughing as her head broke the surface of the water. She flailed her arms left and right but couldn’t reach the sides of the pool. She’d never gotten much past the doggie paddle stage—there weren’t a lot of opportunities to swim in the neighborhood she’d grown up in in New York City.
The others kept laughing. Rivka felt water go up her nose, and she coughed and choked. “Help,” she managed to gasp out. She felt frantically for the bottom of the pool with her toes, but her feet swished back and forth in the water without touching anything solid.
Mary and Pamela continued to laugh.
“Help.” Rivka tried to shout, but water filled her mouth and trickled down the back of her throat.
“I don’t think she’s kidding.” She heard Mary say.
“Don’t be ridiculous.” Pamela drained the last of the champagne from the bottle. “She’s trying to make us feel guilty.”
“I’m not so sure about that.” Mary stretched out flat alongside the edge of the pool and reached out an arm. “Take my hand.”
Rivka tried to open her eyes, but the chlorine made them sting, and she shut them again. She splashed around blindly trying to find Mary’s hand.
“Grab my hand.” Mary crept forward and waved her hand in front of Rivka. "I can't go in after you. I have to return this dress after tonight."
Rivka forced her eyes open. Water went up her nose, and she coughed. She saw Mary’s fingers waggling tantalizingly in front of her. She lunged forward.
“Relax. I’ve got you.” Mary’s fingers brushed Rivka’s. She inched forward and got a hand around Rivka’s wrist. “Help me,” she looked over her shoulder at Pamela as she tried to pull Rivka to the side of the pool.
Pamela sat unmoving with her back against one of the lamp posts, her legs sprawled in front of her, the empty champagne bottle cradled in her lap.
Mary turned back toward the pool, got both hands around Rivka’s wrist and tugged.
She dragged Rivka over the side of the pool where Rivka balanced half in and half out of the water. Rivka wheezed loudly as she tried to catch her breath. The roughness of the concrete scratched her bare arms, and she heard her own breaths screaming in her ears.
After a couple of minutes, she struggled to a sitting position. Mary and Pamela sat watching her.
“What are you looking at?” She demanded. She pushed long, dripping strands of hair off her face. Her dress was soaking wet and clung to her body like cellophane wrap.
“I’ve ruined your dress.” She plucked at the wet silk and whirled around to face Pamela.
“Don’t worry about it. That’s the most entertaining thing I’ve seen in weeks.”
“It’s not funny!” Suddenly Rivka realized what she’d done and started to cry.
Pamela shrugged. “Whatever.
“I think I’m going to be sick.” Rivka put a hand over her mouth.
“Just don’t puke in the pool.” Pamela rose to her feet and padded barefoot to the French doors.
“Wait.” Rivka cried. “What am I going to do?” She gestured toward her wet dress. One of her shoes was floating at the bottom of the pool, a peach colored smudge barely visible below the moonlit surface.
“Frankly, I don’t care.” Pamela slammed the door in back of her loudly.
Deirdre lay in the half dark trying to identify the various shapes around her room. The big square on top of her dresser was her jewelry box. Next to it she could make out the candle that had been a present from Mary for her birthday. The weird, fuzzy shape in the corner was her old teddy bear—the one her father had given her for her third birthday when it was almost as big as she was.
She rolled over and groaned. If only she could be three again—then none of this would be happening. She flipped onto her right side and scrunched the pillow up under head.
She told her mother she had cramps and couldn’t go to Pamela’s parents’ party. Her mother had been pissed—especially since they’d bought a special dress and new evening sandals. Deirdre could see the dress hanging on the back of her closet door. Fortunately, she knew her mother would forget all about it. She never thought about Deirdre for long.
Deirdre looked around the room some more trying to take her mind off the…thing…in the bathroom. It was a fire-breathing monster with flashing green eyes and bared teeth. She laughed into her pillow. A monster wo
uld be preferable. Then she could call her Daddy to come get rid of it the way he used to when she was little. But no one was going to banish this monster. Her father was hardly ever around anymore, and her mother spent all her time locked in her room with a headache.
No, this monster didn’t have flashing eyes or smoke or teeth or anything—just a thin, pink line down the center of a stick telling her that life as she knew it was over.
Rivka woke with a pounding headache. She pulled the covers up over her eyes and pressed the heels of her hands to her temples. She must be coming down with something. Her mouth was dry, her head hurt and her stomach was doing very unsettling somersaults.
Then she remembered.
She heard noises from below—footsteps, chairs scraping and hushed voices. Someone was downstairs with her parents. She listened carefully and groaned. It was Bubbeh and Zayde! They must have taken an early train out from the city. This wasn’t good.
Rivka tried to make out what they were saying, but all she heard was the soft murmur of indistinct syllables. She smelled coffee brewing, and it made her even more nauseous. How was she going to face them?
Her parents hadn’t said anything last night—just sent her straight to bed with sad looks that made her feel terrible since it was obvious she’d let them down. Was wanting to be normal and like everyone else really so bad?
Rivka heard footsteps on the stairs, slow and deliberate. Then the door creaked open. She lay with the covers pulled up over her eyes like she used to when she was little and thought there were monsters hiding under her bed.
“Can you come downstairs, please? We need to talk to you.”
It was her mother. Rivka peered out from under the blanket. Her mother’s face was sad, like it had been last night. Like one of those dogs with floppy ears. Rivka nodded.
Her mother turned around, went through the door and pulled it closed in back of her without making a sound. It would be easier to bear if she slammed the door, or if she screamed and yelled. All this quiet was getting on her nerves!
