The Chocolate Money

by Ashley Prentice Norton

  “We could meet at the boathouse.”

  “Deal,” he says. “You leave first and I’ll see you there in twenty minutes.”

  It’s early in the school year, and Cape and I are the first students to go up for action. Not that no one else engages in this behavior. They have just been more careful. When I walk, the students give me a wide berth, as if they are afraid they could catch what happened to Cape and me. I feel sad. Each one who now avoids me is a friend I might’ve had. I was just so focused on winning over Meredith.

  I get to the bench and wait.

  Cape arrives after about twenty minutes. Takes his place next to me on the bench.

  “So, I suppose you want to discuss strategy.”

  Surprised by his confidence that this is my agenda, I say, “Yes.”

  “Just so you know, kicking students out is more an art than a science. They take all sorts of things into consideration, things that have nothing to do with the offense. One student may be allowed to stay and another one asked to leave even when they have both done the same thing.”

  “How does this work?” I ask, surprised by this information.

  “Well, first they consider if you are a legacy or not. My father went to Cardiss. You?”

  “My grandfather. Does that count?”

  “Not as good as a father, but it helps. Next is the money factor. They are reluctant to kick out a kid who comes from a lot of it. My family is well off, but not rich. My mom has been pretty much living off my father’s life insurance, and she has some family money of her own. What’s your situation?”

  “My mother is a chocolate heiress.” I wince at having said this, but the conversation seemed to require it.

  “As in Ballentyne Chocolate?”

  “Yes.”

  “Is your mother philanthropic?”

  “She just gave a million dollars to Miss Porter’s and they used it to build a new dining hall.” I don’t tell Cape how ironic this is, given how much Babs hates food.

  “Good, good. The head of development is on top of what goes on at other schools and will surely alert the faculty. Now, is there anything you’re particularly good at, something the faculty would be loath to lose?”

  “I’m good at French and English, but that’s about it.”

  “That won’t really help. It has to be something like sports or music. For instance, I don’t mean to brag, but the lacrosse coach will fight to keep me.”

  “Oh, I see.” Wishing I had extracurricular activities besides smoking and chasing the smash.

  “So we both have certain things that will make it hard for them to kick us out. Your money, and my being a legacy and the lacrosse.”

  “Won’t they want to make an example of us?”

  “Of all the infractions, sex is not so bad. Cheating and hazing are the worst, followed by drugs and drinking. The thing about sex is that the girl might get pregnant, and the school would be held responsible.”

  I thought about the fact that we had not used a condom. But what would Cape have done with it after we got caught? Would he have had to turn it in as evidence?

  “Does that make sense? I think we are in fairly good shape.”

  “Yes,” I say distractedly. Knowing somehow that we aren’t.

  “Cape,” I begin, “there is something I have to tell you.” I put out one cigarette and light another.

  “What?” he says, a bit surprised that there is more to discuss after he has explained what he perceives to be a fairly good game plan.

  I pause, knowing the rest of what I have to say might be bad strategy on my part, but I just can’t let Babs tell Cape about Mack.

  “I wasn’t completely honest with you. My mother knew your father outside of her parties. He visited my mother quite often.”

  After a significant pause, he asks, “What does visited mean?”

  Shit. Here goes.

  “They had an affair. It lasted about six months. I’m sorry.”

  “How do you know this?” he asks, searching for sources, definitive documentation, as if I have written a paper with a flimsy thesis and questionable footnotes.

  I decide to spare Cape the details of my camping out on the stairs and listening while Babs and Mack had sex. How Babs told me later about whatever I couldn’t see or hear.

  “I saw his shoes in the front hallway late at night.”

  Cape says nothing for a good minute and then cracks his knuckles. He does not have a cigarette to dilute his feelings about the situation.

  “Oh, that explains the fucking pennies. Which I need back, by the way. Why the hell didn’t you tell me before? I never would have slept with you. Does my mom know about these visits?”

  “Yes. It was pretty common knowledge.”

  “Jesus Christ, Bettina. Think how my mother must feel that out of all the girls at Cardiss, I got caught with you. She was crying when I talked to her the other day, and she never cries. In fact, I have seen her cry only once: when we drove back from my father’s funeral. Why are you bringing this up now? Do you want me to hate you?”

  “It wasn’t my fault, Cape.” I’m not sure how to explain to him that unlike his mother, Babs does whatever the fuck she wants.

  “Maybe not, but you were still there all those nights my mother must have waited up for him. And it seems you sought me out, perversely, as if the whole thing titillated you.”

  “Cape, I was around eleven years old when this happened. And I loved your dad. He was nice to me.”

  “Oh, how cozy. Well, I’m glad he showed some affection somewhere. Because he basically ignored me. He was always gone or distracted.”

  I hear the hatred in his voice and start to cry.

  “Bettina, I’m not going to pity you, if that’s what you want.”

  I can’t help it. My tears get more intense, slide out like tributaries over my face.

  “Cape, do you really have to hate me? I didn’t want to have to bring all this up. I just thought you would want to know, given the circumstances.”

  “What do you expect me to do?”

  “I don’t know. Tell me you know it wasn’t my fault? Forgive me for not having brought it up earlier?” I venture.

  “Well, that’s not going to happen,” he says. He’s trying to sound mean, but I know he wants to cry too. He starts to walk away, then turns back, having regained his composure. “Look on the bright side: you can always write a story about it.”

  27. Monday

  October 1983

  THE TRIAL’S THREE days away. I’ve achieved the status of a quasi-celebrity on campus. Everyone’s excited to know the consequences of our infraction. Will we be kicked out or allowed to stay? The crime’s particularly interesting because it involves sex. Most of the students in the school are too focused on academics to have lost their virginity.

  Meredith’s still furious, and the other girls at Bright follow her lead. They no longer make cruel remarks; they just ignore me. This is hard for Holly, since she’s a genuinely nice person. Cannot bear to tell her parents the fate of her roommate, who had seemed to share their values. I imagine her on the phone saying, Yes, everything is great. Bettina and I are getting along very well.

  This semi-goodwill is completely shattered when word gets back to her that I’m not some poor scholarship student but the daughter of Babs Ballentyne, chocolate heiress. I am related to food, as they originally thought.

  Holly hears this from some of the older students from Chicago who called home with news of me going up for action. Their parents know all about Babs and her money. Now Holly has reasons of her own not to talk to me. I have lied to her and her family. The fact that I didn’t mean to doesn’t really matter.

  I am unclear when Babs is coming to campus. Am afraid to call her and ask. She could come Tuesday night and take me to dinner in town. She could wait until Wednesday, right before the trial. Or maybe, just maybe, she won’t come at all. I’ll have to wait and see.

  After dinner Monday night, there’s no
one in my room, but on the wall by my bed someone has scrawled the word liar in big brown letters. I walk closer and discover that the epithet has been written in chocolate. On the wall behind my pillow is the word slut, also written in chocolate. I’m ashamed, but also furious. This gives me the courage to face Meredith, Jess, and Holly.

  I storm into their room. Am stunned to see Holly smoking. She doesn’t really have the hang of it yet and coughs after every puff, but I am sure she will master it by the end of the semester, in December.

  “What is it?” Meredith asks in an impatient voice.

  “I want to know what’s up with your fucking art project on my walls. I must say the use of chocolate was original.”

  Meredith doesn’t address my question but instead turns to Holly, who looks me dead in the eye and speaks.

  “I found out the truth about your family. How dare you let my parents believe you had no money? You even took ten dollars from my dad! What were you doing, laughing at us?”

  Under any other circumstances, I would have tried to explain, even apologize. But I’m so mad about Holly’s defection, her defacing my walls, I can only glare at her.

  “You know this counts as hazing,” I say. “That’s more serious than what I’m going up for now.”

  Holly turns pale, looks to Meredith.

  Meredith just says, “Holly should have added snitch and bitch to her list of your glowing descriptors.”

  I would never report them, but I take satisfaction in their reaction to my bluff.

  “Fuck you, Meredith,” I say and go to the bathroom to get a washcloth. I wet it and start cleaning my walls. At least Holly did not use indelible ink.

  Once the walls are clean, I sit down and tackle my homework. Why? Can think of nothing else to do. Then I notice: all of Holly’s things are gone. She must have moved down the hall to the empty double next to Meredith and Jess’s. So what, I tell myself. I see she left the foot warmer her mom made me. The fucking Combs family and their stupid, hopeful gift. It was their fault after all that I lied about the money. I don’t know if I should mail the foot warmer back with a fifty and a note saying Donna, maybe you can go to WeightWatchers or buy yourself some attractive shoes or just throw it away. It would look stupid in the aparthouse anyway.

  28. Phone Call II

  October 1983

  I CAN’T FACE JAKE OR CAPE so I’m in my room skipping breakfast when the phone rings. Deeds is nowhere to be found so I run down and pick it up.

  “Hello?”

  “Bettina, darling, it’s Babs.” Darling? Under the circumstances, it rings false, but who cares.

  “Hi, Babs,” I reply, not certain where this conversation is going.

  “Listen, I shouldn’t have gotten mad the other day. I think it’s fabulous you had sex. Fuck the school that considers it a crime.”

  I hesitate before contradicting her. “But I really like Cardiss.”

  “You like Cardiss or Cape?”

  “Both,” I reply.

  “Well, if you are kicked out,” she continues, “think of all the fun we’ll have. We can travel. Stay up all night watching movies. Shop. You can apply to another school for next term. Miss Porter’s has to accept you after all the goddamn dough I’ve given them.”

  Babs wants to have fun with me? Maybe she has no one to fuck and is bored with single women her own age, just finds them depressing. Maybe I would be just a placeholder until she can set up a suitable new cast for the Babs show, but who cares. I would choose Babs over Cape any day.

  “I’m coming to Boston this afternoon. Want you to come to the Ritz and spend the night. We’ll go out to a fab new restaurant, Touché, and close the bar down at the hotel. I’ve got a suite.”

  As great as this sounds, I know I can’t go. How to explain this to Babs?

  “I don’t think I can, Babs. I’m on probation until I go up for action and have to be checked in by seven. I don’t think they will let me leave Cardiss, even with a parent.”

  “That’s bullshit,” she says. “I’m your mother and I pay the bills at that crummy school. Let me talk to Ms. McSoSo.”

  I put the receiver down and run upstairs to get Deeds. She is hunched over her desk marking up papers on Le petit prince with a red pen. She looks up at me. Annoyed.

  “Yes?” she says curtly.

  “Um, sorry to bother you. My mother wants to talk to you.”

  “Okay,” Deeds says, straightening up to assume the posture of a dorm head. She follows me down the stairs. She is barefoot, toenails trimmed but not polished. She picks up the phone.

  “Yes,” Deeds says, trying to project some level of authority. Even though I can’t hear Babs’s monologue on the other end of the line, I can tell Deeds is not buying it.

  “I’m sorry, Mrs. Ballentyne, Bettina needs to be back at Bright by seven o’clock. She also isn’t allowed to leave campus except to go into the town of Cardiss. Maybe you could drive up and visit her?”

  Pause.

  “I understand, Ms. Ballentyne, but Cardiss doesn’t make exceptions for heiresses.”

  Pause.

  “I know it’s the night before she goes up for action. That’s why it’s mandatory that Bettina follow all the rules. There are no exceptions.”

  Pause.

  “Yes, you are her mother, but by sending her to Cardiss, you made the school in loco parentis. Unless you want to take her out of this school for good, you can’t override our rules.

  “Please, I’m sorry you are upset. And no, I don’t want to discuss my personal life with you.”

  Pause.

  “No, from what I gather, Cape won’t be leaving the area with his mother.”

  Deeds is now gesticulating wildly as if Babs can see her. Forgets I’m standing there.

  “Okay, I’ll put Bettina back on the phone. I hope I’ve made myself clear.”

  Deeds passes the phone back to me, shakes her head. Goes back to her room and Le petit prince, I presume. A fantastical book, but whose plot, syntax she can understand. Unlike Babs’s and mine.

  We resume our conversation.

  “What a fucking lawn ornament,” she says. “No sense of priorities. Zilch sense of humor.”

  “So, I guess we will have to wait until Wednesday. I really would’ve liked to come, Babs. Sorry it didn’t work out,” I say, thinking that Babs has taken Deeds seriously. But of course Babs doesn’t take anyone seriously.

  “Are you kidding me? I’m still sending the limo to get you.”

  I take more than a second to answer. If going to see Cape was risky, leaving midday in a stretch limo is downright destructive. If I do it, I’ll get kicked out for sure.

  “Bettina?” Babs, incredulous that I might follow the rules now that she’s concerned. “This whole in loco parentis crap is bullshit. I’m your mother. I get to decide what is or is not okay.”

  I think of her care package. Was she trying to be cool by sending it? Or did she want me to get kicked out all along? Probably both.

  I say, “I’m sorry, Babs, but I can’t. I hope you have fun.”

  “Have it your way, you fucking chicken,” she says, all the chummy excitement gone.

  Conversation over. Dead air. I hold the receiver as if it is some kind of amputated appendage. Hope I’ve made the right choice.

  29. Tuesday

  October 1983

  ONE DAY left before the trial, and I can’t think of anything productive to do. I consider what Babs would do in this situation and decide to shop. I need something appropriate to wear to the trial. Not only is my black shift too sexy, too evening, I can’t show up in the same outfit I got busted in.

  Back to Wow! The same saleslady is there, waiting to help me. I’m sure she remembers my odd choice of togs for the dance.

  “I need a dress for tea with my grandmother,” I say. A lie, but good shorthand for “virginal, frumpy.”

  “I think I have just the thing.” She walks to the back of the store. Digs through all the racks.


  “You are a size eight, yes?”

  The dress she hands me is the exact opposite of the one she sold me before. A floral jumper with a Peter Pan collar, and it hits below the knees. Perfect. Now for the shoes. I pick out a pair of black patent-leather flats and hope they don’t give me blisters. No time to break them in, and I don’t want to limp to the trial.

  The saleslady (I find out her name is Bev) rings me up and once again is bothered by my use of traveler’s checks. She folds the dress into a Wow! shopping bag, covering it with tissue paper. She tucks the shoes into the side.

  “I hope you enjoy your tea,” Bev says.

  “Huh?” Forgetting the story that conjured this dress. Once again, I can’t seem to get out of a situation without lying. “Oh, yes. Thank you,” I say. A tinkly bell on the door marks my departure.

  I continue my walk through the town of Cardiss. Arrive at the hamburger place, The Dog and the Fiddle. I stop and read at the menu hanging outside. Look in the window. Sitting in the front booth are Cape and Mags. They have their heads bowed and are holding hands, as if they are praying.

  I feel a sudden longing for Babs. Why couldn’t she have stayed at the Cardiss Inn, taken me out to lunch, reassured me? Suddenly, I have the idea to go into the restaurant and join them. Mags might have given me a chilly reception at Tea House years ago, but maybe this time will be different. Even though she cried on the phone to Cape when he told her the news, she is a mother after all.

  I open the door and walk to their table, my Wow! bag swinging in my hand. Cape spots me coming, although he averts his eyes and pretends not to. I reach their table and stand by the edge, the same spot a waitress would. Wait for them to ask me to sit down. At first, neither one says anything. They just stare.

  At last, despite the awkward situation, Cape remembers his manners.

  “Mom,” he says coolly, “this is Bettina.”

  “We met once, as I remember.”

  Then, silence. As if they think that if they don’t say anything, I will get the idea and leave.