Secrets 01 Secrets in the Attic

by V. C. Andrews

  "But what made you run off and sneak into Harry's mother's apartment to stay last night?"

  "Instinct."

  "What do you mean, instinct?"

  She smiled. "When I watched you with your father out there and saw you sobbing, I had a feeling you might do something dumb like want to turn me in, let your parents know about me. I was also afraid your parents might have seen or heard the recorder or you might have broken down and confessed it all when you were with them in New York City. I just thought it was wise to be cautious and not take any chances. I thought there might have been a problem when you met my mother, too. Actually, I confirmed that last night."

  "How?"

  "When I was in the apartment, I put my ear to the wall. I could hear my mother on the telephone. She was telling someone about my phone call from New York and the police and then you. I didn't hear details, but I had the sense you had done something disturbing."

  "Who was she talking to?"

  "I don't know," she said. "She used that sweet, flirtatious voice of hers. I've always suspected she had a boyfriend on the side while she was married to Harry and some of these shopping trips were phony. Of course, it would be dreadful, disastrous for her, if that got out now. She has to be the mournful widow for a decent period of time. But, she went out to do something, and I snuck into my room and got some of my things, the jewelry I could sell, and some more money I remembered I had hidden. Don't worry. I was very careful. She'd never know I was there, and I waited until she was gone this morning before sneaking out and back here through the woods. So you see, you nearly destroyed everything."

  She sipped some more lemonade. I looked down, wondering what to do, wondering if she were right.

  "I'm sorry," I said. "I only meant to do whatever would help you."

  "I believe you. You know what's going to happen next, though, don't you?"

  I shook my head.

  "After your father tells the police what you told him, they'll call you in again, and this time, they'll be grilling you like a hot dog on a spit. I'm not sure, but they might even have you face my mother and force you to make all those accusations about Harry. It could get very, very ugly for you."

  "What should I do?"

  "Nothing else, that's for sure. Just wait to see. We'll talk about it, prepare just as we had prepared last time. Oh, I can't stand all this!" she suddenly cried, and put her hands over her ears. She was pressing on her head so hard, she looked as if she would crack it like an egg. Her face reddened with the agony and the anger. "I want to drown it out just the way I used to drown out the sounds of my mother making love to some new boyfriend. She didn't wait all that long after my father died, either, to dip into her pool of lust."

  She relaxed and took her hands from her ears. After a moment, she sighed and looked at me sadly. "We were doing so well, Zipporah," she continued, shaking her head at me. "I wanted us to have some fun, at least, as a distraction, but also for your sake. That's why I wanted you to meet Dana Martin. I've been working hard on that to keep my mind off things Have you any idea what it's been like for me, sitting up there in silence, trying not to think of the terrible things that have happened to me? You can't imagine the pins and needles I was on while you were in New York and I was wondering if you would mess up the call or maybe not make it. It was good therapy for me to think about Dana."

  "He said you called him last night. He said you told him we should get together to decide how to help you. He said you told him that he and I were your best and only friends now."

  "Hook, line, and sinker," she said, smiling

  "What?"

  "He thinks he's so smooth, so sophisticated, the Don Juan of our school, but he's just as easy to twist and turn as any of them. He fell for my story hook, line, and sinker. He wants to meet you tonight, right?" "Yes."

  "Good," she said, standing.

  "When did you call him? He said you were on a pay phone."

  "Before I went to the apartment. I called from the pay phone by Echert's garage. I took a big chance for you."

  "For me?"

  "Of course, for you. Haven't you been listening to anything I've said?"

  "But why are we thinking about Dana Martin and me now, Karen?"

  "I just explained it. What do you want us to do, think only about my problems, dwell on it night and day, let it kill us both?" she cried, her face reddening. "Do you want me to keep remembering what happened, to see that horrible scene again and again until I go mad? Is that what you want?"

  She seized her hair as if she would rip it out of her head, and her eyes looked as if they would explode.

  "No, of course not. I want it all to be forgotten, too. I want you to be able to go on with your life. I want both of us to do all the things we dreamed we would do," I said, feeling myself on the verge of tears.

  Her shoulders relaxed. "Okay, then. Okay," she said, calming Then she smiled. "We have a lot to do. C'mon. We'll start with what you should wear, and then I'll take you through the whole scenario as if we were rehearsing for a school play. It's that simple. Tonight is your night, Zipporah Stein," she

  announced, and moved her hand through the air as if she were lighting up a theater or movie marquee.

  She lunged forward and reached for my hand to pull me up and out of the chair. We were charging out and up the stairs just the way we used to. It was as if we were switching channels on a television seta One moment, we were watching a tragedy, and the next, we were not only watching but becoming part of some show about teenagers full of music and laughter and great excitement. I was spinning around so fast I had to hold on to Karen's hand tightly and hope she wasn't pulling me into some disaster from which l could never hope to recover.

  She sifted through my closet and moved my clothes around as someone who knew exactly what she was looking for would.

  "Ah," she said, taking a blouse off the hanger. It was a light pink pullover with a zipper that traveled nearly down to my navel. "I like this on you. The material clings like a second skin."

  She handed it to me. "So don't wear a bra tonight," she added.

  "What? Why not?"

  "Your nipples will show. You'll move the zipper down, and when he gets a glimpse of your perky breasts, he'll melt like he's made of butter. You'll see. You'll see how quickly you can be in control. You should wear this skirt," she said, referring to her own. "It's a good length. I brought you something else because you don't have any."

  "What?"

  "Bikini panties." She smiled. "He might even remember them," she said, and smiled licentiously. I had no need to ask why he would.

  I wasn't sure how I felt about Karen's revelations about her secret sexual adventures. A part of me was envious. I didn't like being the

  inexperienced little girl. We weren't that far apart in age, yet she spoke and acted as if we were. Despite how good-looking and popular Dana Martin was, I was also unsure about how pleased I was about her setting me up with him for some secret, passionate rendezvous.

  When I fantasized about my love life, I saw myself finding my own Prince Charming I imagined we would look at each other and something would happen to him as well as to me, something magical and wonderful. Maybe that was only the stuff of movies and romance novels, and maybe Karen had a better understanding about how things really were between young women and young men, but I still didn't like the feeling of being pushed and dragged along into what was to be a sophisticated love affair. To me, it still seemed sneaky, but I didn't want to say anything. After all I had done, I didn't want to upset her any more. This had obviously become so important to her that she'd take risks with her own future for me.

  "C'mon," she said. "Now that we have decided on what you're wearing, let's talk about what you're doing. We had better do that up in the nest."

  I followed her out and up the attic stairs. When she opened the door and we stepped in, I stopped in surprise. She had changed some of the furniture around so that it looked cozier, more like an actual living room
. It wasn't haphazard. Whatever matched was brought to bear. She had even found a small rug and placed it in front of the sofa.

  "I had nothing to do all day waiting for you after your mother left, so I started doing this. What do you think9" she asked. "We should have done this long ago, made it more like a room instead of some messy big closet. I'm organizing everything, I decided. The old books and papers and magazines will be like our library. There's even a small area I call the bathroom, the place where I put the chamber pot," she said, lowering her voice. "Of course, we don't refer to it as a bathroom. In those days, they called it a powder room or a water closet. Look," she said, pointing down the wall to our right "I hung that old painting of the creek. I don't know why your mother hasn't brought it 'downstairs. Well? What do you think so far?"

  I forced a smile, because inside I was trembling again. She was behaving as if she thought this would be a permanent home, or at least a very long residence. Why didn't she want to think more about a way out of all this?

  "Nice," I said, but not as enthusiastically as she would have liked. She smirked.

  "Stop worrying, Zipporah. If your mother sees it, just tell her you and I did it a while ago, when we called it our clubhouse or something."

  I nodded. That could work, because my mother rarely came up here.

  "Okay," she said, and began to take off her skirt. "Let's get you dressed for tonight and rehearse. Come on. Don't just stand there like a zero. Put on the blouse," she said, throwing it to me. "Take off your bra first," she reminded me.

  I unbuttoned my blouse and took it off. She stood waiting in her panties while I reached back and undid my bra. Then she handed me the bikini panties she had brought for me.

  "Let's get the show on the road," she said, and went to the sofa to sit and wait for me to finish putting on the blouse, panties, and skirt.

  She clapped. "You look very good," she said. She laughed. She patted the place beside her on the sofa. "Come here."

  I moved obediently and sat. "Now what?" I asked. "I'm going to prepare you. You're not walking into any traps. You're the trapper."

  "Why is this so important that we have to do it right now, tonight?" I asked, holding my breath.

  She smiled instead of smirking and shook her head.

  "Why put it off when there's a good opportunity? Silly girl. We've done everything together for so long. I've shared almost all my secrets with you. I told you. We can't be birds of a feather if we're not completely even, and we can't be completely even if one of us hasn't had the life-changing experience the other has had. Well, can we?" she asked when I didn't respond.

  "I guess not."

  "You guess right. I couldn't leave you here in this sleepy town without first making sure of all that, and that's why," she said, taking my hand into hers and pressing her lips to my cheek, "that's why," she whispered, "the virgin dies tonight."

  14 In Dana Martin's Car

  Karen and I had talked about losing our virginity. Until recently, she had me believe she was a virgin as I was, although she always did belittle its importance and value.

  "Women like to think they're saving themselves for that one special man, while that one special man has been harvesting sex all along. I know my mother acted so innocent and pure when she first met and married my real father. Some men, most men, let themselves be fooled. They'd rather live in the fantasy that their precious love has saved herself just for him. It's damn one-sided, if you ask me. Right?"

  "I suppose," I said. She sounded right, and I had never had a conversation with any other girl or my mother like the one we were having.

  "And then there are those girls who convince themselves they don't really want or need to go all the way. They want affection and consideration and respect, while they sit home and read about real sex in some corner under some lamp while no one is watching. They're merely afraid of it and find every excuse in the book to avoid it."

  She did get me thinking more and more about it. We used to review the girls in school, deciding who had lost her virginity and who had not. She said she could tell by the way the "completed" girls, as she called them, carried themselves and related to boys. "They have that je ne sais pas, that quality the French recognize."

  She did have me wishing I had it, whatever it was. "The virgin dies tonight?" I said.

  She laughed. "Don't look so worried, Zipporah. You're not exactly a country bumpkin. Remember when you told me what happened when you were dancing with that boy back in your old schooP I think you said his name was Barry Hasler. You said you were in tenth grade?"

  "Yes," I said. I had forgotten I had told her about that. It amazed me that she remembered the boy's name, too. She and I had been talking about our secret little sexual encounters. It wasn't that long after we had become friends, and we had played the usual "You go first" game. After one had, the other felt obligated to reveal something. It was titillating fun. That was when Karen said, "We undress ourselves in many ways when we become close friends."

  I had told her that this boy, Barry Hasler, had asked me to dance, and while we were dancing, I had felt his growing excitement when he brought his hips closer. I told her I had moved back quickly, but then I admitted to this unrelenting curiosity that brought me close to him again. Karen compared it to being drawn to a candle flame and putting your finger so close you either burn yourself or nearly do.

  I confessed that just for a moment or two, Barry looked into my eyes and saw that I knew what was happening to him. The fact that I didn't pull out of his embrace and hurry away put an even greater light and excitement into his eyes. I wondered what I had done to cause it. He held me closer, and when the dance ended, he smiled at me and tried to get me to dance with him again, but I was suddenly afraid, made excuses, and left the party before it was over. Nevertheless, he pursued me in school until he saw I wasn't going to be his girlfriend, and he gave up to pursue someone else.

  "But you never forgot it. It's like an experience that's imprinted in your soul forever and ever. Even when you're an old lady, you'll think back to that first time, Zipporah, and it will make you wish you were young again."

  "How do you know all this?" I asked. What I really meant was, how come she knew it and I didn't?

  She shrugged. "From what I read, what I hear, what I see. There have been some real motherdaughter times for me and my mother, too," she said. "Unfortunately, they usually occurred after she had drunk too much or had a bad man experience, as she called it. She would sit ranting about this or that, not realizing half the time what she was telling me, but I didn't interrupt her with any silly, childish questions that would make her aware of it, so she went on and on, supposedly to help prevent me from becoming the victim she had become. That was her excuse, but she was and is a victim of herself. She just likes to blame others, including me. But forget about that," she added quickly. "I don't want any of that to ruin our good times."

  She smiled again. "I'm bringing up your memory and what you told me so you'll realize what power you do have, we have. I hate all these girls who pretend to be so helpless. They're such . . . zeros, phonies, dishonest . . . we're not going to be like them. When you drew closer to Barry again, you kept him excited, even more excited. You could have led him all around that dance floor. He might as well have had a collar and a leash. Dana Martin's not going to be any different."

  "Dana's not in the ninth grade. He's a senior, and he's been with lots of girls, I bet."

  "It doesn't matter. As my mother always says, `They're boys forever.' As I said, when you get into his car, he's going to drive you to a safe spot so you can talk," she said, making quotation marks in the air with her index and forefingers when she said "safe." "Little innocent you will go along, of course. When you get there, he'll turn off the engine and the lights. The moon will be nearly full tonight. It will be quite romantic, actually. He'll begin talking about me, about how sorry he feels for me, and how wonderful a friend you've been to me and how he respects that more than anything
He'll knock all the other girls in school as self-centered, busybodies, even his old girlfriend, in order to make you feel very special in his eyes, and then he'll say something like he hopes you think of him as someone special, too. He won't wait for the answer. He'll put his arm around your shoulders and kiss you and try to convince you that's why he wants to be with you now, why you should want to be with him, why this is so right and good."

  She paused, and I sat there unable to move, afraid to speak and stop her. I felt as if I were watching it happen to someone else.

  "His hands will start their exploration of your body. He'll be on those perky breasts of yours like a fly on fly paper, but," she said, smiling, "this is where you take control of him."

  "How?" I asked. My heart was already thumping with anticipation.

  "You're not going to be the passive little limp rag in any boy's hands, Zipporah. I won't be, and you won't be. Before he moves that hand of his off your shoulder to get to your breasts, you put your hand right here," she said, and put her hand on the inside of my right thigh. "You order, command, and direct his excitement as a lion tamer in a circus orders, commands, and directs the king of the jungle."

  I started to shake my head. "I've never . . ."

  "Oh, you can do it. It's easier than you think," she said. "You're not going to wimp out on me, on yourself, now, are you? Not after all I've done, all the preparation, the setup. It's my gift, my chance to pay you back for all this," she said, indicating the attic. "Look at how much you've helped me, how much you've risked for me. Don't let me down now."

  "I'm not helping you in order to get you to do something for me, Karen."

  "I know that, but you've got to do this. In a real sense, you'll be doing this for me almost as much as you're doing it for yourself," she insisted. "Remember when I said you had to have a love life for both of us right now? Let's get back to it. You won't be frightened. You won't let yourself be disappointed. You're more like me than you think. Am I right to believe in you? Well, am I?"